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The same Hiy bills and dells , ttuose skiBS the same . 
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Reared in 2Jev(r Ing-land.' s infancy are tnose . 

JtrooHine. J'ayt ZS9 . 



B O S T O 5r . 

PUBLISHED irr D. 3. KING ASI> cnOCKER *: BKirvr-S-nER. 

184.0. 



THE POET'S TRIBUTE. 



POEMS 



OF 



WILLIAM B. TAPPAN 




BOSTONi 

D. S. KING A\D CROCKER & BREWSTER. 
1840. 

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EvKuv sound poet, who does justice to his own faculties, and 
to the great subjects prepared for tlieir exercise, is of a sacred 
order. Let us not, then, seek to limit the sphere of the child of 
song, save by a deep sense of the worthiness and responsibility 
of his calling. Free let hiin remain to shift his delighted 
"glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;" — to 
expatiate, unfettered, wherever nature invites, or imagination 
bears him. — Introductory Essay to Sacred Poetry of the Seven- 
teenth Century. 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1839, by 
D. S. Kino, in the Clerk's Ollice of the District Court for the 
District of Massachusetts. 



John B. Hull, rjinior. 




eft- 



WIFE AND COMPANION ! — WILT THOU TAKE FROM ME 
THIS BOOK, A TRIBUTE TO OLD LOVE AND THEE ? 



CONTENTS. 



The Good Wine, 13 

Woman, . . . . . , . . 15 

The Choir, 16 

Better Thoughts, 18 

Charit}', 21 

The Farm School, 22 

The Child of the Tomb, 24 

Saturday Evening, 26 

The Sabbath, 28 

Niagara, ........ 30 

Ship of the Line Pennsylvania, . . . .30 

Such may not I, ...... 32 

The Unfruitful, 33 

Faithful to his Constituents, .... 35 
The Old North Burial Ground in Portsmouth, 

New Hampshire, . . . . . .36 

Purity, 30 

The Future, 40 

Bethesda, ....... 41 

Africa, .,,,..... 44 

Weep not for the Dead, ..... 46 

Beauty, 47 



A Simile, 



48 



The Heavenly Rest, 


. 49 


Watch Night, 


. 50 


A Heaven of Holiness, 


. 52 


Jacob's Well, 


53 


Texas, 


. 54 


Departure of the Israelites, 


56 


The Sea of Galilee, 


. 57 


Elegiac, 


58 


I'll Look to Thee, 


. 60 


A Portrait, 


61 


In Memory of the Preceding, 


. 63 


Madagascar, 


66 


The Cleansing, .... 


. 68 


The Dedication, .... 


69 


The Opium Ships, 


. 70 


Day of Prayer for Colleges, 


71 


The Palm Tree, .... 


. 74 


Sleep, 


75 


Idols, 


. 77 


Death at the Mirror, 


78 


Song from Scripture, . 


. 79 


Sunday School Missionary, 


80 


Dirge, 


. 83 


Congregational Church, Philadelphia, 


85 


Robert Raikes, in the Suburbs of Gloi 


icester, . 89 


The Anger of Moses, 


90 


The Flag, 


. 91 


Blessing the Battle, .... 


93 


Mechanics' Temperance Hymn, . 


. 94 


The Bride of the Canticles, 


96 



To a Young Lady who was Baptized in Infancy, 
To Thomas Moore, Esq., .... 
Smyrna, .... 



They say the Goblet's crowned 

Patient because Eternal, 

Apostrophe, 

Communion Hymn, 

Nobility, 

Nipped i' the Bud, 

Decay, . 

John Eliot, 

Names of Christ, 

Whitefield, 

Harriet Newell, 

The Bands of Prayer, 

Thomas Shepard, 

The Forgotten, . 

Temperance Song, 

James iv. 13, 14, 

Lazarus, 

That Sad Second Childhood, 

Fellowship, 

The Silent Street, 

The Drunkard's Death, 

The Quakeress, . 

To the Monument, 

Sunday, .... 

The Widow, . 

The Inconsistent, 

The Gamblers, 



with Flowers, 



97 
98 
99 
100 
102 
104 
105 
106 
107 
108 
110 
110 

111 

112 
112 
113 
IM 
115 
116 
118 
121 
122 
124 
126 
129 
131 
133 
134 
135 
137 



8 



Speech of the Emperor Nicholas, 

Virginia A. D****, 

Common Origin of Religion, 

The Temple, ... 

I am for Peace, . 

The Second Arrow, 

The Bible Forbidden, 

Appeal from Bible Countries, 

Lines at Lowell, 

The Pressure — 1837, 

Hymn for the Times, 

Mount Auburn, 

Confession, 

Foretastes, 

Idolatry, 

The Faithful Friend, 

The Good, 

The Burial of Moses, 

The Happy Man, 

The Brahmin Suicide, 

To the Idolater, 

The Appeal, . 

The Snare, 

Nature's Worship, 

Compassion, 

The Sons of God, . 

Innocence, 

That Look, . 

The Twenty Thousand Children, 

J^aurel Hill Cemetery, 



138 
141 
143 
145 
147 
149 
150 
151 
152 
153 
155 
157 
158 
159 
160 
161 
163 
164 
166 
168 
171 
172 
173 
174 
176 
177 
178 
179 
180 
182 



The Voice, 


. 184 


The Poet's Theme, . . , . . 
The Advent, 


185 

. 186 


The Dead Boy, 

Wait Working, 

Victoria, ....... 


187 

. 190 

192 


To my little Son, 

True Science, 


. 195 
196 


Shall we know each other in Heaven ? 


. 197 


Let me live till I am old, .... 


198 


The Dead, 


. 199 


The Sailor Boy, 

Funeral of Bishop White, .... 


200 
. 201 


Brutality, 

The Sandwich Isles, 


202 
203 


Mortality — Immortality, .... 

Early Consecration, 

Many Ways, 

The Perfectionist, 


204 
207 
209 
212 


The Bunker Hill Pile, 


213 


Verses for a Temperance Society, 
The Mother of Lyman, .... 
Youths' Temperance Ode, . . . . 
The Eleventh Hour, 


214 
215 
217 
219 


Tract Visitation, 


222 


Horticultural Grave-yard, .... 

Charles River, 

Mont Pilatre, 


223 
224 
225 


New Organ in Christ Church, Philadelphia, 
A Psalm of Sickness, 


226 

227 



10 



Everys, .... 

Remains of William Nevins, 

Thomas Greene Fessenden, 

The harvest is great, the laborers few 

Thoughts, . 

Millennial Hymn, 

Installation, 

An Early Death, . 

The White Mountains, 

The Legacy, . 

The Voice at Sea, 

Progress of Temperance, 

Penitence and Prayer, 

Much forgiven, loving much. 

Children blessed for the parents' sake, 

Who gazes from Mount Olivet ? 

The Change, 

Organization of Congregational Church, 

The Omen, 

Myself, .... 

The Indifferent, 

Brookline, 

The Devoted, . 

All Night in Prayer, 

The Face of Death, . 

Talleyrand, 

The Sunday School, . 

The Sacraments, . 

Verses for a Church Publication, 

The Israelite's Prayer, . 



228 
230 
231 
232 
233 
235 
237 
238 
240 
241 
243 
246 
249 
250 
251 
252 
253 
255 
256 
257 
258 
259 
260 
261 
262 
263 
264 
265 
266 
268 



11 



For Mobile, 
The Furniture, 
Christian Wars, 
The Intercession, . 
The Grave of Payson, 
The Lost, 

The Angel's Wing, . 
Departing, 
Wisdom from All, 
The Early Dead, . 
What is Man ? . 
Walking on the Sea, 
Sacred Melody, . 
Return of the Jews, 
Missions, . 



270 
272 
273 
275 
276 
278 
280 
282 
283 
285 
287 
288 
289 
291 
297 



POEMS. 



THE GOOD V/INE. 

oil ! thou only God of wine, 
Comfort this poor lieart of mine, 
With that nectar of thy blood. 

Alexander Rosse, 1G50. 

WiKE of Cyprus, not for me, 
Thou, nor juice of Italy ; 
Nor Atlantic's luscious pride, 
From Madeira's sunny side ; 
Nor from Caprea's royal hoard. 
Nor from Lisbon's modern board. 
Nor from elder Egypt's crypt, 
Which Mark Antony hath stripped — 
Nor from Rhine or laughing France, 
Where Garonne's blue ripples dance, 
Nor from banks of classic river. 
Winding Po or Guadalquiver. 

All the grapes in vintage crushed. 
Could not satisfy my thirst ; 
Purple flood in chrysolite, 
Where it moves itself aright. 



14 



Freely poured in princely hall, 
Sparkling at high festival, 
Well refined, or on tlie lees, 
Could not my ambition please ; 
Draught that passing pleasure brings, 
Leaving ever during stings. 

When my lips the beaker kiss, 
I have other wine than this. 
Taken from the fruitful hill, 
Which doth live in poesy still ; 
Where for vine, a cross of wood. 
Guarded by the Roman, stood ; 
Whose rich spoil was gathered when 
Triumphed hell and triumphed men : 
Crushed and mangled was whose grape. 
While the heavens looked agape. 
And in sackcloth hid — whose wine 
Streaming, dimmed the mid-day's shine, 
Fermented in nature's sigh. 
Ripened in the earthquake's cry. 

How it stirs my languid blood ! 
How it cheers my soul, like food ! 
Drink, ye kings ! and cares forget, 
Drink, ye sad ! and triumph yet. 
Drink, ye aged ! strength renew, 
Drink, ye children ! 'tis for you. 
Drink, ye pilgrims ! while 'tis nigh — 
Drink, nor in the desert die. 
Drink, ye fainting ! thirst ye never, 
Drink, ye dying ! live for ever. 



15 



WOMAN 



By Woman's words to man so well seducing, 
Came sin's accursed entrance and our woj 

She, the unhallowed science introducing, 
Of good, forbidden, taught us ill to know. 

By Woman's lips were first the accents spoken 
To cheer a world whose hope was in the grave j 

That Jesus had the three-days slumber broken, 
And, rising, showed that He was strong to save. 

She, from free Eden to the earth's dark prison, 
Led Adam by the flattery of her tongue ; 

She unto Peter told, " the Lord is risen ! " 
In melody like that to sweet harps strung. 

By Woman, then, though sometimes cometh sorrow, 
(And who of mortals is exempt from this ?) 

By Woman's love, besides the hope of morrow, 
There's full fruition of the present bliss. 

She, in life's sunshine, will increase life's pleasure 
By social converse, and the charms of mind; 

She, in affliction, will be found a treasure, 
To soothe the heart and banish care, unkind. 

She, in youth's journey, from the wayside flower 
Will pluck the thorn, lest it should give thee pain ; 

In age still constant, and in death's last hour 
A helper when all other help is vain. 



16 



Go, then, ye heartless ! to whom Woman never 
Brings up pure images of peace and home, 

And fireside joys, and faithful care, whenever 
Pale Sickness seizes, or afflictions come ; 

Go to that selfish love the cold world offers, 
And find your solace, if indeed ye can ; 

For me, I'll ever seek, despising scoffers. 

Her virtuous smile — God's richest boon to man ( 



THE CHOIR. 

I WENT to Chapel some few Sundays since 

In Chatham street. New York ; a stranger there, 

And yet at home within those hallowed walls 

Where all are welcome. It was early yet, 

So I awhile surveyed the edifice, 

Admiring at the growth of piety, 

Or growth of that fair city, which had changed 

Its Theatres to temples. Soon the seats. 

Spacious, and free to poor and rich alike. 

Were filled. The holy man of God his place 

Ascended ; silence reigned and hearts seemed hushed 

At consciousness that Jesus was within ; 

When presently the Choir, whose ample place. 

Unwonted, was behind the sacred desk, 

And in full view of worshippers, began : 

He dies .' the Friend of Sinners dies ! 



17 



In low 
And sweetly plaintive notes, in which I thought 
The very soul of harmony spake out, 
Did many voices, well attuned, reply 
Subduingly — Herc^s love beyond degree! 
So rich, so melancholy, and so soft 
The strains that rose and fell upon the ear, — 
So fitly modulation of the tones 
Was married to the language, blending sense 
With melody, and to the heart and head 
Conveying truly, sweetly, mournfully, 
The import, — that my soul was satisfied, 
And yet was troubled. Could I help but go 
With the sad story ? — could I help but hear 
The voice of Salem's daughters, as they wept ? — 
Or could I then resist the plaintive call : 
" Come, saints, and drop a tear or two for Him 
Who groaned beneath your load I " — Could I refrain 
From joyful tears, as the triumphant burst 
Gave token that the God had left the tomb, 
And risen, Conqueror and King ? — 

I gazed 
Upon the leader of this wondrous power 
Of minstrelsy concentrate, as he sat 
Midst of the choir, upon the farthest seat, 
And highest — the spirit he of music 
Personified. His frame, obedient to 
The stirring impulse of the mellow sounds, 
Involuntarily bent, now at the close, 
Symphonious, and now to full extent 
2 



18 



Expanded, as pealed up the harmony, 
While every nerve and every fibre seemed 
Compelled to the sweet service. He, I saw—' 
Blest necromancer — had infused his soul 
Into the soul of each, and each as one, 
Gave voice, — one master spirit moving all. 

It speeds devotion, when intelligence 
And skill, and piety, in concord join, 
Producing music. Softened by its power, 
The heart flows forth, and meekly entertains 
The gospel message. Let not tuneless choirs, 
Where life is not, nor melody, nor taste, 
Essay the lofty praises of the King: — 
For to his shrines should such false fire be brought, 
'Twould mar the sacrifice. How heavily. 
How wearily would grieved Devotion's wing 
Soar then ! New unction must the soul require, 
If thus disturbed, to worship God aright. 



BETTER THOUGHTS. 

"A WEARY world," forever cry 

The stricken, troubled, and the sad ; 
And openly, alike the bad, 
Alike the good, in secret sigh ; 

And "weary, weary Avorld," is still 
The burden in their song of ill. 



19 



Aforetime, I have strung some lays 
In idleness, to theme like this ; 
And shut my wilful eyes on bliss. 

That round me lay in noontide blaze ; 
And chose the darkness which, in stour, 
Fancy beheld around me lower. 

Well pleased me then to say or sing, 
" This world is all a fleeting show >" 
And all its joys, as well as wo, 

Are sombre as the raven's wing. 
And flat as dreams of folly past, 
That charm awhile, and cheat at last. 

I've wiser grown; and this fair world 

Seems fraught with something of the grace, 
Which God inscribed upon its face, 

When he the lovely planet hurled 
Away, — as Time began his years, — - 
To join the dances of the spheres. 

" My heart leaps up," when I am fanned 
By morning's fragrance-laden air ; 
How blessed is the night ! how fair 
The landscape where I spy His hand ! 
The hill and vale have charms for me ; 
The river, and the broad blue sea. 

Yes ! and its fields, and fruits, and flowers. 
Its sun, and stars, and glorious frame, 
J{ow tell me of the Maker's name. 



20 



I read it in the flying hours, 
I feel it in the summer's glow, 
'Tis spangled on the winter's snow. 

His love I welcome in the joy 

Of friendship, and I need not roam 
For sweeter proof; my humble home. 

Where pleasures dwell that never cloy. 
Where peace has dove-like wing unfurled, 
Tells me 'tis not a " weary" world. 

" Sin makes it weary ;" true, yet here 
Thy argument doth blindly halt; 
'Tis not the world, but man's in fault; 
And were to such the heavens brought near. 
And could sin there one moment dwell, 
Heaven would be but a "weary" hell. 

And spirit ! can that weary be. 

Disgusting, vexing, on whose front 
(Too deeply writ for ruin's brunt, 

Or change,) stands thy eternity ? 

This, on which spleen in judgment sat, 
Thy one probation-place for that ! 

God never wrought with ill intent. 
Nor vainly ; and this glorious world, 
O'er which his starry skies are curled. 

O'er which his bow of love is bent — 
Scene of his Son's accomplished plan — 
Is not a " weary" world for man. 



21 



I'll love it, and with holy love ; 
For its high mysteries will employ 
Thought, language, love, in worlds of joy. 

There — and such be my bliss above ! — 
Earth has sweet portion in the soul, 
And shall, as countless ages roll. 



CHARITY. 

" Go, heal the sick, go, raise the dead," 
The Saviour to the Seventy said ; — 
They straightway spread abroad the flame 
Of sacred Mercy, in his name. 

Lord, we are not commissioned thus ; 

To quell disease is not for us ; 

We cannot bid insensate dust 

To rise, and tomb and cerement burst. 

But we can cheer the dwelling, where 
Is found the son of want and care ; 
And smooth the couch on which at last 
The daughter of despair is cast. 

And we may hush the orphan's fear. 
And wipe away the widow's tear : 
Win back the wand'ring and undone, 
And clothe and feed the needy one, 



00 



Thus seeking such as thou didst know, 
Who wast companion, too, of wo ; 
Thus following paths thyself didst tread, 
Who often raised the drooping head ; 

Humbled, if, when the blessed stand 
In judgment at thy high right hand. 
We hear thee say, " Whatever ye 
Have done to these, ye did to Me." 



THE FARM SCHOOL, 

ON Thompson's island, boston harbor. 

'Tis well to gather from your street 

The children of neglect. 
And teach them, in this fair retreat, 

To win deserved respect ; 
And train the twig, so early bent 

To vice, by culture kind ; 
And look for fruit of your intent — 

The tree aright inclined. 

'Tis well to snatch from Penury's den 

Its hapless child, and show 
Humanity is godlike, when 

It softens human wo. 



23 



'Tis well — for ye of Misery's tomb 

Have burst the iron bars, 
And called up slumbering mind, to bloom 

Above the fading stars ! 

I marked each youthful eye, and saw 

High purpose kindle there ; 
I saw the future statesman, or 

One who shall venture where 
The wise, in elder years have stood ; 

Or him, whose honors won 
Shall throne his name among the good, 

His country's choicest son. 

Or, moulded here in honest ways, 

And led in ductile youth — 
One who shall fearless go in praise 

And battle for the truth ; 
Or go to prove how surely peace 

Lies fallow on the soil. 
When skill and care insure increase 

To crown the yeoman's toil, 

I read each look of intellect, 

And Heaven I thanked again. 
That from lost hopes and households wrecked, 

Such treasures yet remain ; 
And prayed that those who, still in tears, 

Tread paths of want and sin. 
The thousands of unripened years — 

Might here be garnered in. 



24 



THE CPIILD OF THE TOMB; 

A STORY OF NEW HURY PORT. 

The following fact is found in Knapp's " Life of Lord Dexter." 

Where Whitefield sleeps, remembered, in the dust, 

The lowly vault held once a double trust ; 

And Parsons, reverend name, that quiet tomb 

Possessed — to wait the day of weal and doom. 

Another servant of the living God, 

Prince, who (bereft of sight) his way had trod. 

Unerringly and safe, life's journey through — 

Now sought admittance to these slumberers too. 

As earth receded, and tlie mansions blest 

Rose on his vision — " Let my body rest 

With Whitefield's," — said he, yielding up his breath, 

In life beloved, and not disjoined in death. 

Obedient to his wish, in order tlien 

Were all things done ; the tomb was oped to ken 

Of curious eyes — made ready to enclose 

Another tenant in its hushed repose : 

And, lighted with a single lamp, whose ray 

Fell dimly down upon the mouldering clay, 

Was left, prepared, to silence as of night, 

Till hour appointed for the funeral rite. 

It chanced, the plodding teacher of a school — 
A man of whim, bold, reckless, yet no fool — 
Deemed this an opportunity to test 



25 



How far the fears of spirits might infest 
The bosom of a child. A likely boy, 
The choicest of his flock, a mother's joy, 
He took, unscrupulous of means, if he 
His ends might gain, and solve the mystery. 

Both stood within the mansion of the dead. 
And while the stripling mused, the teacher fled. 
Leaving the child, where the dull cresset shone 
With the dumb relics and his God alone. 
As the trap-door fell suddenly, the stroke. 
Sullen and harsh, his solemn revery broke. 
Where is he ? — Barred within the dreadful womb 
Of the cold earth — the living in the toriib ! 
The opened coffins showed Death's doings, sad — 
The awful dust in damps and grave-mould clad. 
Though near the haunt of busy, cheerful day, 
He, to drear night and solitude the prey ! 
Must he be watcher with these corpses ! — Who 
Can tell what sights may rise ? Will reason then be true ? 
Must he, — a blooming, laughter-loving child, — 
Be mated thus ? — The thought was cruel, wild ! 
His knees together smote, as first, in fear. 
He gazed around his prison ; — then a tear 
Sprang to his eyes in kind relief; and said 
The little boy, " / laill not be afraid. 
Was ever spirit of the good man known 
To injure children tvhovi it found alone ? " 
And straight he taxed his memory, to supply 
Stories and texts, to show he -might rely 
Most safely, humbly, on his Father's care — 



26 



Who hears a child's as well as prelate's prayer. 
And thus he stood — on Whitefield's form his glance 
In reverence fixed — and hoped deliverance. 

Meanwhile, the recreant teacher, — where was he .' 
Gone in effrontery to take his tea 
With the lad's mother ! — Supper done, he told 
The feat that should display her son as bold. 
With eye indignant, and with words of flame, 
How showers that mother scorn, rebuke, and shame ! 
And bids him haste ! and hastes herself, to bring 
Him from Death's realm who knew not yet its sting : 
And yet believed — so well her son she knew — 
The noble boy would to himself be true : 
He would sustain himself, and she should find 
Him patient and possessed, she trusted well his mind. 

The boy yet lives — and from that distant hour 
Dates much of truth that on his heart hath power ; — 
And chiefly this — whate'er of wit is wed 
To word of his — to reverence the dead. 



SATURDAY EVENING. 

My God ! this hour doth thought invite, 
That bird-like would for shelter flee, 

Tired with its six-days' weary flight — 
To fold its wings, and rest with Thee. 



27 



I long to soar above tlic vain 

And false delights that compass me ! 

Break, Lord, the world's entangling chain, 
And set the joyful captive free. 

'Tis said the time ere that which brings 

The early blush of Sabbath light, 
Is never vexed by evil things. 

Is ne'er disturbed by fiends of night; 
So like that hour, I fain would choose 

My soul to be — its calm delight 
So deep — that Folly must refuse 

To stay, and Sin be loath to fright. 

Sweet Evening ! whose delightful air 

Already scents of Sabbath gales ; 
Refresh me ! cheer me ! and repair 

The vigor that so often fails ; 
And fit me for the morrow's toil 

In gardens where the soul inhales 
Rich fragrance, gathering flowery spoil 

On rosy hills, in lilied vales. 

If such the prospects that may pass 

Before a pilgrim here below, 
Who gazes through the shepherd's glass. 

The far celestial scenes to know — 
How glorious, waking from the dream 

Of life's delusions, care and wo, 
Must that high world of beauty seem 

Whose earthly glimpses ravish so ! 



23 



THE SABBATH. 

The day that God calls his, make not thine own 
By sports, or play, though 'tis a custom grown ; 
God's day of mercy wlioso doth profane, 
God'a day of judgment doth for him remain. 

MS. Poetry of the Seventecntk Century, 

Joy for the Sabbath day ! 

Day of all days the best, — 
Toil ! with thy thousand cares, away ! 

I seek its hallowed rest. 
When virgin Earth was young, 

The word that blest it came ; 
With trumpet's voice the mandate rung 

From Sinai's hill of flame. 

Joy for the Sabbath hours ! 

My soul, think on thy vow ; 
Lie trembling, ye tumultuous powers ! 

Tread softly, worldlings, now ! 
This Resurrection Morn 

Broke ancient Midnight's spell, 
When One of lowly woman born, 

Spoiled Death and eager Hell. 

Up, for retirement's haunt ! 

The solemn, secret place, 
Where God supplies the spirit's want 

With treasures of his grace. 



Its hushed and early hour 

Invites prevailing men; 
Tlic Sabbath day-break ! — Oh, there's power 

With Him to wrestle then. 

Up ! where Devotion waits, 

Where the bowed heart adores ; 
Be lifted, oh, ye temple gates ! 

Be opened, joyful doors ! 
There, at the organ's peal. 

And choir's melodious tone 
Of rising anthem, humbly kneel 

Before thy Father's throne. 

Up ! for the paschal feast — 

The bread and wine are here ; 
Thou, whom thy heart esteems as least, 

Art welcome to the cheer. 
The spousals of the King 

And Church are held to-day ; 
Thy willing gift of gladness bring, 

And bring thy white array. 

Weep ! for there is a loss — 

The enemy has gained ; 
Weep, follower, beneath the cross, 

The Sabbath is profaned ! 
Oh, not alone by those : — 

Yet darker is the frown : 
The Christian joins the Sabbath foes, 

By him 'tis trodden down ! 



iU) 



N r A r, A R A . 

ISiiv<;.viiA ! — \\\o poetry ofliod ! 
Wliosc iuiiiiIkth l.cll, ill ovtu'liisrmij liymn, 
Only ol' (jiod ! 'Vlu) niorninjr slartt that woke 
Music aloiifT tlioir courses, early cautrht 
Its far ofVeclKX's, and in wild deli<i;lit 
Returned tlieni, sollened, r«)nnd the universe. 
Tliink not, tiiink not. Earth's triflers ! that for t/oii 
And g'arish Day, these melodies ehime on. 
WIkma ye, (runiniMhed, lost, are known not, Nijjht, 
Nioht lo the awful iintheni evi'r hearken.s. 
And ev(>r willi n(>w Joy. Oli, how sid)!iine 
The symphony, lh;it, under the expanse 
Of stars, piMils on in unexhausted power: 
Niagara! — and the st)le listener, Nitrhl! 



SHIP OF 'IM lie I . I N !•: I' i: N N S Y L V A N I A 

*'LF.Ar lorth (o the eareerinj;- seas," 

Oh, ship of lolly name ! 
And tons upon thy nativi' bree/e 

The stars aiul stripes of fame ! 
And IxNir Ihy thunders o'er tht> d»>(^p 

WluM'e vaiiutinij navies ride ! — 
Th<ui hast a nation's ot>ms to keep '— 

Jler honor and her pride I 



ai 



Oh ! holy is tho covenant mado 

With thoo and uh to-day;-^ — 
Non(! from the compact shrinks afraid, 

No traitor utters nay ! 
We pledge our fervent love, and thou 

Thy trjorious ribs of oak, 
Alive with men who cannot bow 

To kings, nor kisa the yoke ! 

Speed liglitningM o'er the Carib Bca, 

Which deeds of hell deform ; 
And look ! her hands are spread to thee 

Where Afric's rol)bers swarm. 
Go! lie upon tin; TEgean's brciast. 

Where sparkle emerald isles — 
Go! seek the lawl(!ss Suliote's nest. 

And spoil his cruel wiles. 
And keep, where sail the merchant ships, 

Stern watch on their highway, 
And promptly, through tliine iron lips. 

When urged, our tribute; p;iy ; 
Yea, show thy l)riHtrmg teeth of power, 

Wherever tyrants bind, 
In pride of their own little hour, 

A freeborn noble mind. 

Spread out tliosc! ample wings of thine ! ^- 
While crinu! doth govern men, 

'Tis fit such bulwark of the l)rine 
Should leave tlie shores of Vunn ; 



For liid within thy giant strength 

Are gorms of wrlcome Peace, 
And such as thou, shalt cause at length 

Man's feverish strifes to cease. 
From every vak% from every crag, 

AVord of thy beauty's past, 
And joy we lliat our (M)untry's flag 

StPi'aiMs from thy towcrliiir mast — 
Assured that in iUy prowess, Ihou 

For hi>r wilt win r(>uowM, 
Whose sous cdii d/r, hut Uiunv not how 

To strike that [xmiuou down. 



1837. 



STUMI MAY NOT I. 

Ill till' Imiir of mj' ilistrcss, 
\\'lit'ii tt'iii|it!itii)iis mo oppress, 
And when I my sins confess, 

Swcot Spirit! comfort me. 

Litany, Inj llobci't llcmrk. 

Who of our mortal rare is he. 

So IJruily fixed hy fortuuc>'s power, 
That from the shock he's counted tr(>e, 

Of tossing waves, in lrouhl(>'s hour? 
Let him still clasp iiis fancied bliss, 

And look dc>haiu'(\ too, on care, 
Not heeding, in a world like this. 

If there's abetter known, or wluM-e : — 

Such may not I. 



33 



Wlio of the saints that ever trod 

In outward sheen, this path of sin, 
Tliat n(!ver felt — so strong in God — 

Tlic coward weakness full within ? 
Let him still jra'/e on yon clear sky, 

As if his mirror there he sought ; 
And chall(Mige Purity to spy 

In his soul's core, one careless thought — 

Such dare not I. 

Yet, if there's one, who in the strength 

Of worldliness, is weak indeed, 
Who finds his hoasted staff, at length, 

Of wise resolves, a broken reed, 
And from the midst of battle; calls — 

While his own goodness sounds retreat — 
On Mercy, and for succor falls, 

A trembling wret(;h, at Jesus' f(M;t — 

Oh ! such am I. 



TlfK UNFRUITFUL. 

Wjiy on this Zion-hill 

Descends no kindly rain — 

Precept on precept still 
Imparted, and in vain ? 

No souls these walls to crowd, 

Like doves, or as a cloud ? 
3 



34 

Its watchman long hath toiled 

In Christ, his Master's name ', 
Yet Error is not foiled, 
Nor Satan put to shame. 
For weary years the stumbling flock 
Have blindly missed salvation's Rock. 

With tears and inward strife 

And agony of soul. 
He's wooed the dead to life, 

The broken to be whole. 
But tears and prayers and pain 
Of spirit, have been vain. 

What lacks he ? love ? — His heart 
Beats but to earnest love ; 

Power ?^ He hath the art 
To bring heaven from above. 
No wiser lips God's word hath spoken, 
No holier hands God's bread hath broken. 

Listen ! — ere vows had bound 

His labors to this spot, 
A message had him found 

Which he regarded not : 
By him should be unfurled 
Peace to the heathen world ! 

He shunned it. On this hill 
No dews of grace descend ; 

'Tis as Gilboa still, 

And shall be till his end, 
Who judgment for the Jonah sees. 
That to God's will prelL'rred his ease. 



35 



FAITHFUL TO HIS CONSTITUENTS. 

He journeyed on, and baited at each house, 

Where they do hang out sign to entertain 

Both " man and beast." And he was entertained 

With certain glasses of burnt brandy, or 

Of Hollands, or the best New England rum, 

As suited taste ; nor boggled he, nor seemed 

Squeamish, or hard to be well satisfied. 

And thus did he, or if the weather showed 

Or cold or moderate, or rain or shine, — 

'Twas all the same — his quenchless thirst held good; 

And by the time we reached the bustling town, — 

Where is the seat of government, to which 

The gathered wisdom of the State convenes, 

Yearly, to make or mend the laws — I found 

My friend, the Representative, was drunk ! 

I marvelled somewhat at this riddle, till, 
Waiting a sober hour, I questioned him. 
And he did thus reply, all unabashed : 
" My good constituents hate the new plans — 
And vile plans are they ! — 'bout the Temperance cause. 
And they elected me, for well they knew 
I should oppose such notions, and thwart 
Endeavors to put down all licenses, — 
Which curst endeavors are against His will 
Who made all things, and who has said that all 



36 



The creatures — surely the " good creature " too — 
Are very good. Faithful those friends to me, 
And I must drink, — I love it — for I deem 
A man unfit to sit in yon brave State House, 
And represent such friends, — who stayed at none 
Expedient, or good or bad, to place him there — 
Who will not, on occasion, every where 
Be faithful to his tried constituents ! " 



THE OLD NORTH BURIAL GROUND 
IN PORTSMOUTH, N. H. 

I STAND where I have stood before in boyhood's sunny 

prime. 
The same — yet not the same, but one who wears the 

touch of Time ; 
And gaze around on what was then familiar to the eye, 
But whose inconstant features tell that years have 

journeyed by. 

Since o'er this venerable ground a truant child I played, 
And chased the bee and plucked the flower, where 

ancient dust is laid ; 
And hearkened, in my wondering mood, when tolled 

the passing bell, 
And started at the coffin's cry, as clods upon it fell. 



37 

Those mossy tombs I recollect, the same o'er which 

I pored, 
The same these rhymes and texts, with which my 

memory was stored ; 
These humble tokens, too, that lean, and tell where 

resting bones 
Are hidden, though their date and name have perished 

from the stones. 

How rich these precincts with the spoils of ages 
buried here ! 

What hearts have ached, what eyes have given this 
conscious earth the tear — 

How many friends, whose welcome cheered their now 
deserted doors. 

Have, since my last sojourning, swelled these melan- 
choly stores ! 

Yon spot, where in the sunset ray a single white stone 

gleams, 
I've visited, I cannot tell how often, in my dreams, — 
That spot o'er which I wept, though then too young 

my loss to know. 
As I beheld my father's form sepulchred far below. 

How freshly every circumstance, though seas swept 

wide between, 
And years had vanished since that hour, in vagaries 

I've seen ! 
The lifted lid — that countenance — the funeral array, 
As vividly as if the scene were but of yesterday. 



88 



How pleasant seem the moments now, as up their 

shadows come, 
Spent in that domioil which wore the sacred name of 

homo, — 
How in the vista years liave made, they shine with 

mellowed lii^^ht, 
To which meridian bliss has nought so beautiful and 

bright ! 

How happy were those fireside hours — liow happy 

summer's walk. 
When listening to my father's words or joining in the 

talk ; 
How passed like dreams those early hours, till down 

upon us burst 
The avalanche of grief, and laid our pleasures in the 

dust ! 

They tell of loss, but who can tell how thorough is 

the stroke 
By which the tie of sire and son in death's forever 

broke ? 
They tell of Time ! — though he may heal the heart 

that's wounded sore, 
The household bliss thus blighted, Time ! canst thou 

again restore r 

Yet if this spot recals the dead, and brings from mem- 
ory's leaf 
A sentence wrote in bitterness, of raptures, bright and 

brief. 



39 



I would not shun it, nor would lose the moral it will 

give, 
To teach me by the withered past, for better hopes to 

live. 

And though to warn of future wo, or whisper future 

bliss, 
One comes not from the spirit world, a witness unto 

this. 
Yet from memorials of his dust, 'tis wholesome thus 

to learn 
And print upon our thought the state to which we 

must return. 

Wherever then my pilgrimage in coming days shall be, 
My frequent visions, favorite ground ! shall backward 

glance to thee ; 
The holy dead, the bygone hours, the precepts early 

given. 
Shall sweetly soothe and influence my homeward way 

to heaven. 1837. 



PURITY. 

Oh, glorious Thou ! thy throne of power 
Could not remain one single hour, 
Were not its deep foundations laid 
On laws of holiness, obeyed. 



40 



The heavens that look upon this globe, 
The stars that glitter on their robe, 
Yea, the battalions, blest and bright 
Of God, are spotted in his sight. 

What, then, is man, who drinks up sin ? 
All stains without, all wounds within — 
Whose guilt embitters every stream 
That, as it shines, should blessings beam. 

Oh, from the tree which shadows heaven, 
Let some benignant branch be given ; — 
At Marah, be again revealed, 
And, Lord ! the fountain shall be healed. 



THE FUTURE. 

My God, I would not long to see 

My fate with curious eyes ; 
Wliat gloomy lines are writ for me, 

Or what bright scenes may rise. — Watts. 

If in Thy book, within whose lids is sealed 
The checkered fates of mortals, unrevealed, 
Is deeply graven by the eternal pen. 
Among the unaltered weal and wo of men. 
My future story, — or in sombre lines. 
Along which no kind ray of gladness shines, 



41 

Or in the characters that brightly tell 

Around me Hope has woven fairy spell, 

And on my future path — unlike the past — 

The sunshine of enjoyment shall be cast — 

And on that page I dare believe 'tis seen — 

Still shall the thought ne'er trouble me. Serene, 

Indifferent, even, will I be, for Thou, 

O God, hast been, and still, I trust, art now 

And ever will be mine. What need I more ^ 

To me what boots it that the future store 

Of good, or ill, is unrevealed ? I must, 

Were all this known, but make my God my trust. 

And this I'll do, unknowing His intent, 

And praise Him still, till life's poor sand is spent, - 

Till I, with others, on the plains above. 

Shall, wondering, spell out all His ways of love ; 

And oh, to read in lines of glory, then, 

How God, in all, is justified to men ! 



BETHESDA.* 

The House of Mercy — sacred pool — 
Whose gracious wave was wont to cure, 

Beneath the Great Physician's rule. 

The lame, blind, halt, and withered poor, 

* John, chap. v. 



42 



Is theme of sweet instruction, telling 
That errand angels make their dwelling 
"With man ; untiring spirits they, 

Who, or to bide, or fly, or roam. 
With willing wings their Lord obey 

On earth, as in their starry home. 

Bethesda ! in the lapse of years 

Who may recount the groans and tears, 

The hopes dashed down, the keen despair — 

All that the sickened heart can wear 

Of human ill, that by thy side 

Have clustered, mocking human pride ? 

Or of the thousands who have sat 

Thus by thy well, in hope, how few 
Seizing the precious moment that 

Should heal, stepped in and found it true I 
And what's the world we tread, but one 

Bethesda, where the heirs of pain 
Are watchers — where the lost, undone, 

Expecting, wait, and wait in vain — 
Where multitudes lose Hope's sweet power, 
To one that finds the Angel's hour ! 

And one, among that waiting crowd, 
For two-score years has, patient, bowed 

Beneath his suff 'rings. Time has past — 
His youthful locks of glossy jet 
Have whitened by these waters, yet 
Is he unhealed. His manly cheek 
Is scarred with lines that old age speak ; 



43 



And he has seen Bethesda heal, 
While on its Virtues lay a seal 
For him, a Wretch to misery sold. 
And he has seen the yoling, the oldj 
The timorous, doubting, and the bold 

Go down, while he aside is cast. 
Yet not for want of effort, he 
Is left in his infirmity. 
How often, when despair was nigh. 
He checked the fiend ! — his eager eye 
Kindled once more with hope : — the cry 
Went round, " The Angel ! " — then he strove 
By thought of all that bound his love 
To life, to rise and in the wave 
Of healing, his disease to lave. 
But e'en while coming, feebly, slow. 
The stronger gained the pool below ; 
Another stepped before him, — hand 

Was none to help, or guide his foot — 
Not one of kin, or friendship's band 

The old man in the wave to put. 

Yes ! there was One, drew near him then, 
Of rich compassion, more than men. 
He comes — no conqueror so great — 
In lowly, meek, derided state. 
His followers base esteemed, the scum 
Of earth — the heirs of crowns to come. 
And who is He ! — I know him now 
By that pale cheek and wondrous brow ; 



44 



Tliat face with softest pity boaming, 
Tiiat awful eye whence God is gleaming. 
" Wilt thou be healed ? " he kindly said ;■ 

Could He raise wishes, but to balk ? 
Oh, no ! when Jksus speaks, the dead 
Shall live, all mortal ills must die ; — 
At Plis command diseases fly. 

The sick shall take his bed and walk ! 



AFRICA. 

God ! while dusky Hindostan 

Sees the light that comes from Thee, 
While no more Mahratta's man 

Gives to Boodh the knee, — 
While again the Grecian hears 

On his Mars'-hill, truth, profound, 
While the Crescent disappears 

From Calvary's holy ground, — 
Yea, while Smyrna far hath cast 

Age's seven-fold bisi'ot pall. 
And for China word hath past 

That overleaps her wall — 

God ! shall not the Negro's land 

As otlier lands be blest ? 
Shall not Ethiopia's band 

Enter into rest .'' 



45 



Sliall Sahara's parched ranger 

Never taste the rivulet ? 
Still shall Christendom the stranger 

In the Moorish gate forget ? 
While thy Dove of Mystery 

Every where is flying, 
Will not leaves of Jiealing be 

Sent to Afric, dying ? 

Where Cleopatra the pearl 

Mingled, is thy pearl forbid ? 
Sliall not men the Cross unfurl 

On the Pyramid ! 
May not upon night again 

Open the immortal morn, 
Where Cyprian taught, and Origon 

Adorned the priestly lawn ? 
May not hamlets that festoon, 

Beautifully, Niger's flood, 
With Alexandria and Wednoon, 

Be given unto God ? 

On tlie coast of nations, look ! 

Where deceitful beams prevail 

Shall they not, at thy rebuke, 

Pale, as stars at morning pale ? 
Wilt Thou not awake the dead ? 

Captive lead captivity — 
May not Ethiopia spread 

Heart and hand to Tliee ! 



46 

May not, for the cries that went 
Skyward, be the hymn of bjiss ? 

May not bloom a continent 
Where was only oasis ! 



WEEP NOT FOR THE DEAD. 

I hear the voice 
Of the expecting grave. — Martyr ofJlntioch. 

Thk grave hath voice, and seems to say, 

Weep ye who on my surface tread. 
Condemned to bear tlie heat of day — 

But weep not for the slumbering dead. 
Weep ye for those for whom no tear 

Is given, the sorrowing, the distressed, 
The troubled, whom there's none to cheer, 

But not for him that is at rest. 

Weep for the living wretch, whose sighs 

Go up for loss of friend and lover ; 
For him that as survivor dies. 

Not him whose parting pangs are over. 
Weep for the living ; — he's alone ; — 

Few are the living ; who may know 
Hoic few, compared to the unknown 

Nations of men that sleep below ! 



47 



Weep for the sufferer who is tost 

On restless seas of pain and ill ; 
But not for him who, having crossed 

The ocean, rides secure and atill. 
Weep for the sinner, sadder far ! 

Who wanders in the depths of night ; 
But not for him on whom the star 

Of morning trembles out in light. 

Weep, weep for her who comes to weep 

Where her sweet infant lies full low ; 
Not for the spark wlioso upward leap 

Hath made it flame with cherubs so ! 
Weep for the prisoner, for the heir 

Of misery, toil, and tears and pain ; 
But not for those, escaped, who share 

Immortal joys, undying gain. 



BEAUTY. 

Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
Praising God willi sweetest looka. — Ruth. 

Modest Beauty praises God, 
Wlien it sends its glance abroad, 
With a look of cheerfulness ; 
Beauty doth the Giver bless, 
When its roses show the hue 
Of bright health, with lip of dew. 



48 



And religion of a face 
Where is written all of grace. 
What a holy hymn is ever 

With a sweet expression blent ! 
Sending music up, which never 

Skillcss, soulless Art hath sent ; 
Rend'ring worship, such as we 
In the lines of Beauty see. 
From the eye of diadems. 
From the mouth of pearls and gems, 
From the smile of calm delight — 
Beaming intellectual light, — 
From the nameless, charming whole 
That holds empire in the soul — 
Doth in harmony arise 
Beauty's homage to the skies. 



A SIMILE. 

In the dew-drop you behold 

Myriad splendors merged in one } 

Showing, like a sea of gold, 
All the glories of the sun. 

Man, before the throne above, — 
Where no sinful foot hath trod, — 

Thus reflects the perfect love 
Of the awful, glorious God. 



49 



THE HEAVENLY REST. 

Know ye the earth, on which ye tread, 
Is a pleasant garden, merrily spread 
With fruits of the best, with earliest flowers, 
Dimpled with dells and decked with bowers, — 
That the saint, nigh to faint, may rest him there, 
And the heart may part with its griefs in prayejr ; 
And taste those draughts of the ravishing love 
That flows in the bosoms of the blest above ? 

Know ye the earth, so pleasant to-day, 
Will pass, v/ith its fruits and flowers, away ? 
That its best and earliest show in their bloom 
The blight of death, and decay of the tomb, — 
And the light so bright to the dazzled eye. 
Which gleams and streams on its morning sky, 
Will fade as the cloud that twilight sees 
Melt from the heavens with evening's breeze — 
And the peace which the pilgrim sought to know, 
He learns, in his sorrow, is not below ? 

Know ye there remaineth a heavenly rest 
For the weary one, and the care-opprest — 
That ye need not seek it on earth abroad, 
'Tis barren of bliss for the sons of God, — 
That the saint will faint in its path of care, 
And sigh and die, who rests him there j 
4 



50 



That above, in bowers 

Where the deathk^ss flowers 

Of holiness blooin, 

No blight of the tomb 
Can come, — where sparkling rivers of bliss 
Murmur on, as the margins of beauty they kiss ? 



WATCH NIGHT. 

"Throe Watcli Nights are mentioned in the Bible — the Egyp- 
tian Watcli Nijrlit, when the Israelites were deiivored ; (»ur liOrd's 
Watcli Night in the gartliMi ; Paul and Silas' Watch Night." 

Watch Night, of old, 

God's chosen, bold, 
Held, when their hosts he came, 

From scourge and guile, 

And lands of Nile, 
To lead, in cloud and flame. 

His Watch Night, sad. 

When Satan had 
One boastful hour the throne — 

Immanuel kept. 

While angels wept 
To see their Lord alone. 



51 

'Twas Watch Night, when 

Piiilippi's don 
Strange music poured on high, - 

And bolts and chain, 

Like threads, in twain, 
Snapt at the earthquake's cry, 

Up ! Watch Night, now, 

Hold toe, who bow 
In joy and trembling here. 

Give louder song ! 

Though wait we long, 
The Master will appear. 

Up ! Watch Night keep. 

Ye, that in sleep 
Have lain — your torches trini ! 

Who of his train, 

When Christ again 
Appears, will wake for Him 9 

Up ! when burns noon, 

Or when the moon 
Ascends her midnight way, — 

He Cometh ! see 

That waiting, ye 
Do greet the Bridegroom's day. 

Such, when their shrouds 
Men leave, and clouds 



53 

Reveal the throne to view — 
Shall win, — toils past, — 
Bright crowns at last ; 

Soul ! is there crown for you ? 



A HEAVEN OF HOLINESS. 

The thought of a heaven of holiness is my solace. — James 
Brainerd Taylor. 

SwKET heaven ! to know thee holy, 

Were dearer to my soul, 
Than sight of all the glory 

Whose seas about thee roll. 
The floods of splendor, streaming 

From ecstacies of light. 
To purity there beaming. 

My God, were only night ! 

Sweet heaven ! the song of gladness 

That thrills the upper air. 
To me were note of sadness. 

If " Holy " were not there. 
No more to bright harps given 

On holiness to dwell — 
Its bliss would fly, and heaven 

Be but a better hell. 



53 



Sweet heaven ! where saints are singing, 

Where angels join the lay, 
To thee I would be winging 

My upward, homeward way. 
Where crystal walls forever 

Show holiness within ; 
Where golden gates ope never 

To sorrow, death or sin ! 



JACOB'S WELL. 

He journeyed on to Galilee, 

Unheralded by fame, 
And wearily to Jacob's Well 

The heavenly Teacher came. 
Upon that fountain's granite lip. 

He leaned, and gazed below. 
Where the cool waters gushed and foamed. 

And leaped in frolic flow. 

Who would have thought that weary man. 

Reclined in mean attire 
Here in Samaria, was the theme 

Of all the angel choir .'' 
That for this wanderer, faint with thirst, 

Were heaven and hell at strife, — 
That he possessed the crystal key 

Which opes the Well of Life ? 



54 



Oh, wlion I meet, henceforth, the sad 

And humble man of care, 
Let me not scorn his presence, lest 

I weave myself a snare : 
For in that poor and broken wretch, 

By whom the dunghill's trod, 
Unerring Scrutiny may spy 

A sceptcrcd son of God. 



TEXAS. 

Admit her to the Union ? Yes ! 

If our democracy can bow 
To kings, and is prepared to kiss 

The loathsome hem of tyrants now ; 
From principles that years have tried, 

If thus we fall, no l()ng(>r men. 
And to our fathers' d(>e(ls of pride 

Are recreant — why, admit her, then ! 

If names that moved us, move no more, 

And we, degenerate, are ashamed 
Of fields once wrapt in flame and gore, 

And deem those spirits to be blamed ; 
If Bunker Hill flings up reproach, 

And Lexington's the mock of men, — 
IVid them " God speed " who would encroach 

On justice — and admit her, then ! 



55 



If Hancock, Adams, Warukn, -wore 

Deluded fools that chased a dream, 
And Washington amhif iouH, where 

The patriot's sword was wont to jrleam ; 
If all the bright green spots that mark 

The veteran's bed, by stream and glen. 
Hide traitors, — on tlieir mtnnories, dark 

Deep curses rest — admit her, then ! 

If Slavery's foul and damning spot 

Must lu^re increase, lik(! Ahal)'s cloud, 
Blackening the firmament, till not 

One star shall blaze upon the proud ; 
If tJius, a spectacle of scorn 

To nations, wtj're content, — let men 
Lift up the consummated horn 

Of infamy — admit lier, then ! 

But if the loud, indignant cry 

Heard round the world, has power ; if soon 
Must hateful error droop and die. 

And truth stand out to burning noon ; 
If down Time's ag(!s lives our land, 

Tiio proudest, last retreat for men, 
Her flag by freedom's breezes fanned, — 

Yci'll not — ye can't admit h(>r, then ! 

Now is the time, and now's the hour ; 

Tlirough our republic's breadth and hmgth. 
From hall and cot, from town and tower, 

Let answer go in Virtue's strength ; 



56 



And jx^al far round tlu* startling' cry — 
We, vvlioHc old lathers struck the blow, 

Wo, who lor l'r(M>doin <laro tt) die — 

111 inilliou void's thunder, JNO ! 1837. 



I) \'] V A IIT U II !•: () V T 1 1 i: I S R A K LIT V. S 

o^ .sKKiMi rnr. ricrmtK ur.ruKSKNriNO riii: aisove. 

I (iA/i;, and gaze, and willingly confess 

Th«> pencil's triumph. IJr(>atlu> not, daring- Muse ! 
Nor languiig-c give to trooping thoughts that press 

For utterance. And niethinks thou canst not choose 

But to l)(> silent ; dreaniingly to lose 
Tliy8(»lf in witchery of tiie olden tinu>s, 

As J'ig'ypl's awl'ul beauty, richly seen 
In morn's grey sol'tness, rises, and the chimes 

Of feot departing ring, with joyous cries l)t>t\vcen. 

While on the mighty caravan, the sheen 
<)1* royalty, the (UMitury-telling pyramid. 
And obelisk, and gods that frown in stone, — 
Dumb in the tumult ! — gazing — Fancy, chid, 
llclires, to wonder and to weep alone. 

Yet it is noble thus to contemplate 

Almighty i)ower. With what a majesty 

Is (Jod encompass(Ml, while are seen the hate 
Of wily prii'st, and wrath of tyranny, 



57 

Impotent to forbid, when lie ordains ! 

No implements of war, nor chariots armed, 

Move the proud monarch. The same voice that 
cahned 
Chaos to order, tells of One who reigns. 

By whom king-s reijrn ; and once more hath that 
voice 
Spoken to Pliaraoh — and the first-born, dead^ 
Have also spoken, " Let the people go ! " 

In songs of glad deliverance they rejoice, 
And by the rod of miracles forth led, 
Depart — that pagan Egypt may Jehovah know. 



THE SEA OF GALILEE. 

O Jksus ! once on Galilee 

Tliy voice of power was heard, 

WJien madly that dark-heaving sea 
Through all its depths was stirred. 

The forky lightninjrs Thee revealed. 
Calm, 'mid the storm's increase. 

And far above where thunders pealed. 
Was heard the whisper, " Pkace ! " 

How drooped at once that foaming sheet 

Of waters, vexed and wild ! 
Each wave came falling at thy feet, 

Just like an humbled child. 



58 



So rages my tumultuous breast, 
So chafes my maniac will ; — 

Speak ! and tliese troubled seas shall rest, 
Speak ! and the storm is still. 



ELEGIAC. 

MRS. M. A., OK LANDISBl'RG, PEN N SYLVAN; A. 

The few I have tried in this hollow world, 
Like jewels of worth in chaff impearled, 
Have paled as I looked, and faded away 
To shine in coronals of perfect day. 
The few I have loved in its desolate path. 
Who lightened its sorrows and blunted its scath, 
Have followed each other on speedier wing, 
Impatient for glory. O God, what a thing 
Of misery and mocking is one thus bereft. ; — 
All gone life's endearments, and he alone left; ! 
Why is it, the gifted and gracious, who thus 
Almost the whole species redeem from the curse 
Of selfishness, — deeply burnt into the heart, — 
Just show what was Eden, and, pluming, depart — 
Just come on our darkness with light that illumes 
Like the storm-flash that leaves us to drearier glooms .'' 
Just make us in love with real goodness, and then 
Vanish like angels from bowers of men ? 



59 



Is it to wean us from all that below 

Glads us, and cheats with ephemeral show ? 

Is it from earth to the heavenly blue 

Bidding us look, and f(;cl nothing is true 

Or beautiful long on the dust we have trod — 

That the true and the lovely are only for God ? 

Such, Mary ! wast thou — and invited to range 

The pathway of brightness, but little the change 

That was needed for thee ; — 'twas only to stop 

On the threshold and smile thy farewell, and so drop 

The garment of clay that but cumbered, and then, 

For transports, mortality never may ken ! 

I return thy farewell, and hence softly will tread 

The path that yet winds 'mid the dying and dead, — 

And checking, at thought of thy freedom, the tear, 

As Time takes each link up that fetters me here. 

Will thank our kind Father, a holier rest, 

A balm for the mourner, a home for the blest 

Are thine, where is garnered nor falsehood nor folly, 

Nor tears of the broken, nor dark melancholy — 

But where the sweet fountains that murmur in sounds 

Of music, are flowing o'er happier grounds ; 

Where wander for ever, in beautiful bloom. 

Earth's languid and sick, and the lost of the tomb, — 

Where the innocent babe like a bud never dies, 

Where the hand of compassion wipes tears from all 

eyes J 
Where the city of God shoots its pinnacles high, 
Whose walls of clear jasper ne'er echo the sigh ; 
Where yet I may hope, in the sapphire-laid street, 
Thee, Mary ! with others long wept for, to meet. 



60 

Thou canst not, oh, Grave ! there thy victory bring, — 
Thou canst not, oh. Death ! follow there with thy sting. 



I'LL LOOK TO THEE. 

I'll look to thee, my Saviour ! when 

The gales of fortune gently blow, 
And every good, esteemed of men, 

It is my privilege to know. 
I'll look from altars, whereon lie 

The coals of earth's imperfect fire. 
To that bright source beyond the sky. 

Which burns intenser, holier, higher. 

I'll look to thee, when sorrows press 

With awful weight upon my head, — 
A wanderer in this wilderness. 

Alone, or with the joyless dead. 
When hope still sleeps, and wakeful thought; 

Preys on its hoarded misery. 
Even then, by thy sweet precept taught. 

In tears I'll only look to thee. 

I'll look to thee, when sickness pales 
This broAv, and wastes this frame away ; 

When strength departs and spirit fails. 
And all my inward powers decay. 



61 



Yea, at the hour whv.n nature faints 

In its last mortal ai^ony, 
Strong in the Refuge of the saints, 

I'll look to thee, I'll look to thee. 



A PORTRAIT.* 

He ministers where husy men 

Do cluster in the mart of Penn. 

Its northern suburhs well have known 

Tiie light that twenty years hath shone 

In many an alley, lane and street 

Of those thronged Liberties, where meet 
The careless, moral and profane. 

In many a house his ready feet 
Have visited, a soul to gain, 
Whom he hath warned, and not in vain. 

Wouldst note him ? Seek yon dome of prayer, 

His 'customed place — behold him there. 

He stands, with form that toil hath bowed, 

In meekness to delight that crowd. 

His furrowed cheek and thin grey hair 

Would tell of age, did not that eye 

Of kindling spark, the thought deny ; — 

* Written while its original, Rev. James Patterson, of Phila- 
ddpliiu, was in the midst of his days and usefulness, and six 
weeks prior to his sudden and lamented death. 



62 



Would tell of woakiu'ss, did not lips 
Of hurninjr (>l()(HU'iict*, aiui licart 

That into llravi'irs mystery dips, 
Instruction, awe and peace impart. 

With Saxon strength of language, lie 

Pours thoughts that rise in giant strength ; 
With quaint, ai)proi)riate imagery, 
Convincing in simplicity, 

lie shows his subject's breadth and length. 
The weapon doth he strongly draw, 
Bright, keen and tempered, of the law ; 
And while fools cavil that its edge 

Wears not a nice and useless shine. 
It severs like a mighty wedgt^ 

The gnarled tough heart with power divine. 

Dost ask for fruit ? 'Tis ample — some 

Is gatheriMl u|) to bless him here ; 
And from earth's eonfmes men sluill come, 

His crown, when lost are star and sphere. 
" That Day of wrath, that dreadful Day 
Wiuni heaven and earth will pass away" — 
As swells abroad the last trump's sound, 
Let me be found where he is found ! 
As sinks beneath my foot the land, 
Let me but stand where he doth stand. 

Who shall be greatest deemed of all 
That sit in white ou thrones above ^ 



63 



Not him for jriftw cstcciiicd, liko P;iul, 
But wlio like Paul hath toiled in love. 

Earth's great ones, while abashed they wear 
In heaven, a rayless diadem. 

Shall see such high in glory there, 

Spangled and starred with many a gem. 

October, 1837. 



IN MKMOKY OK 111 K VUECKDlfid. 

There are others who fall on tin; fields of their fame, 
Th(j warriorH of Christ, that on earth have a name, 
And a place in the glorious records on high, 
Who live in applause and in triumph who die, 
And sleej) when; their tabh^ts to j)asseiigers tell 
How bravely they battled, how nobly tlusy fell — 
Yet none stir the depths of such feeding in me, 
As rise, holy man ! when 1 think upon thee. 

There are scribes, well instructed, that rightly divide 
The word, and choice leaders to teach and to guide ; 
There are those; in tlu; service, like cedars, how tall ! 
And strong for tlu; liord, like the veteran Paul ; 
With lips whence the music persuasively flows. 
Of a mind that with fervor and ('lo(|uenee glows, — 
And yet who would buy their renown with one tear 
That comes from the heart of the lowliest here ? 

I cannot forget, when but few or none cared 
For a soul in the web of sin's artifice snared, 



64 



How kindly thou laboredst to free me — and now, 
Though a robe's on thy form and a light on thy brow, 
And glory, v/here yesterday lingered decay, 
And wings plumed around thee that bear thee away 
From sickness and sorrow — I cannot but sigh 
One needed to live should so speedily die. 

I knew thee to love thee ; but long ere I knew 
Thy faithfulness, goodness and fellowship true, 
Thou didst follow my step while a stranger to both 
Thy God and thyself, and to holiness loath, — 
And watched me and warned me, and showed me the 

way 
Whence youth, just as heedless, unguardedly stray — 
Nor paused thou, till peace, driven far by the rod, 
I sought as one earnest, and found it in God. 

There are hearts, perhaps hundreds, where thou wast 

enshrined, 
That will bleed at this blow, — to the Giver resigned, — 
There are thousands whom thou to the Shepherd hast 

led, 
And comforted, chidden, wept over and fed ; 
And some, thy first fruits, have their toils ended 

first, 
,And some, in bereavement, have bowed o'er thy dust. 
And a flock thou hast blest, and by whom thou wert 

blest, 
A widow — the fatherless — tears tell the rest. 

We muse on this trial, stern, grievous and strange, 
And ask, while despondingly viewing the change 



65 



Made where the death-angel has swept his wide 

wing — 
Art angry, oh, Father ? or why is this thing ? 
We plead in our trouble, wilt Thou, too, depart ! 
The righteous man dies and none lay it to heart : — 
Yet answer is given — " Away to his home 
I've taken him, only from evil to come." 

From evil to come ! — ^ if the strength of thy host 
Is broke, shall thy cause not be counted as lost ? 
Yet no ! when the faithful is called from the field, 
We'll hear but thy voice, " Cease from man as your 

shield!" 
And learning from him,-— who his sword has laid 

down 
To take a new harp and receive a glad crown, — 
We'll watch for souls wandering, and win them above, 
And spend and be spent, like thy servant, in love. 

I heard, uttered John, and a voice spake from heaven. 
Blessed hence are the dead unto whom it is given 
To die in the Lord ! Oh, the light is not dim. 
That beams in such blessedness now upon hiin^ 
Who for trials tlirough which he has sorrowing- 
past, 
Has honor and glory and beauty at last ; 
And for draughts drank in bitterness only, below, 
The streams that from fountains of happiness flow. 

JYovemher 25, 1837. 
5 



66 



MADAGASCAR. 

" No man of God shall tread this isle," 

The queen of Madagascar said ; 
" Who Christ shall teach, by force or guile. 
Shall pay the forfeit of his head. 
Our gods, that give us weal or curse, 
Abused or praised, will do for us." 

" Bring forth the wretches who forsake 
The altars which our fathers served ; 
Be theirs the dungeon, stripe and stake, 

Reward of treason, well deserved. 
Draw out the sharp and shining spear, 
With vengeance flushed — impale them here." 

She did not know that One who sits 
Above, doth at the scoffers laugh ; 

And holds in scorn their feeble wits. 
And drives their hopes away as chaff. 

Nor knew that royal David cries 

To kings and queens, " Be wise, be wise." 

That He, on heaven's circle, spurns 
What princes deem their fondest joy ; 

And overturns, and overturns 
Their empires, like an idle toy. 



67 



And in displeasure, sore, doth vex 

The wolves that would His fold perplex. 

What though this Madagascar queen 
Pursue the conscript men of God ; 

And with her sacrifice, obscene, 

To horrid demons, mix their blood, — 

Let all earth's kings his message shun. 

They must submit, and kiss the Son. 

Though in the galaxy that flames 

Before the eye of angels, she 
Joins to those high immortal names 

The lowly, scorned, Ra-sa-la-me,* 
Who had for martyr-fame no thirst — 
Of Madagascar's martyrs first; — 

We know the light of Beth'lem's star 
Shall reach the darkest depths of guilt, 

Though edicts swarm of pope and czar. 
By pagan sword though blood be spilt. 

For has not God declared decree — 
" The earth, my Son, I give to Thee ? " 

* Ra-sa-la-me spoke so boldly in defence of Christianity, that 
she was fixed upon as the victim to appease the wrath of the 
queen. She was most severely whipped for several days succes- 
sively, before she was put to death — a thing never heard of be- 
fore in Madagascar. She, however, continued steadfast to the 
end, and met death with such calmness and tranquillity, that the 
executioners repeatedly declared that " there was some charm in 
the religion of the whites, that took away the dread of death."— 
Missionary Herald fur February, 1839. 



68 



Then fly, ye ships ! to heathen coasts, 
Deep freighted with salvation's gem, — 

And bear the sacramental hosts 

Where blinded nations wait for them : 

The world by Grace must yet be won ; 

By man the labor must be done. 



THE CLEANSING. ^ 

Jesus went up to Jerusalem, and found in tlie temple those 
that sold oxen, and sheep and doves, and the changers of money 
sitting; and when he had made a scourge of small cords, he 
drove them all out of the temple, and the sheep and the oxen ; 
and poured out the changers' money, and overthrew the tables ; 
and said unto those that sold doves, Take these things hence. — 
John ii. 13—16. 

Messiah saw within 
The holy court 
Of his own Temple, grievous sin, 
Traffic and mummery and sport. 

The money changers sat, 
Watching for gain. 
Stout oxen, sheep, lambs, sleek and fat, 
That should in sacrifice be slain. 

He drove out boast and men 
Forth to the day ; 
And to the fair dove-sellers then 

Said, gently, " Take these things away."' 



69 



How could a corded whip 
Expel those thence, 
Wielded by o/ie, — and not a lip 

Move, nor an arm in fierce defence ? 

'Twas not the feeble rod 
That made the rout : 
They saw his eye — they knew the God, 
The present God, then flashing out ! 



THE DEDICATION. 

Arise, O Lord ! Thou and the ark of thy strength ; let thy 
priests be clothed with salvation, and let thy saints shout aloud 
for joy. — The Psalmist. 

Richly arose the diapason's swell, 
That failed not our low praise in heaven to tell. 
Fervently went, on wings of faith, the prayer 
That God indeed would tabernacle there, 
And shed, as silent dew, refreshing grace. 
Earnest the words which set apart the place 

For joyful, solemn worship. Now, then, come ! 
Oh, Father ! here record thy awful name. 

Incarnate Jesus ! Thou, the embodied sum 
Of each desire, of every good, here claim 
Souls for thy travail. Holy Ghost ! draw near, 
By the woke conscience and the secret tear. 
Us, waiting. Triune God ! Sire ! Son ! and Dove ! 
Fill with thyself — thyself! Illimitable Love. 



70 



THE OPIUM SHIPS. 

Almost incredible quantities of opium have been smuggled 
into China, under the sanction of the government of British lu- 
dia. At this very time, says a traveller, though efforts so extra- 
ordinary and persevering liave been put forth by the Chinese 
autliorities to stop this infernal traffic, there are twenty-four 
opium sliips on the coast. Since these verses were written, in- 
formation has been received that the Chinese authorities Jiav« 
succeeded in their efforts to destroy this trade. 

Ay, flap your wings, ill-omened birds, 

Impatient for your prey ; 
Infest in swarms the Chinese seas, 

For who shall say ye " Nay ? " 
Watch for the moment to inflict 
Foul wrong, in spite of interdict. 

What though your fearful errand's fraught 
With death, death which is hell — 

And by the traffic Mercy bleeds, 
Flock on, for all is well : 

The end shall justify the means, 

Your trade is nursed by kings and queens. 

Through all her unoffending realm 

The ripened plague spot bear. 
Till China is one lazar-house 

Of misery and despair. 
Let avarice urge your flowing sails, 
Let selfishness bestow the gales. 



71 



The Upas flings its poison forth, — 

In this resembling ye; 
And wo to bird or beast or man, 

That sees the fatal tree. 
The Upas to one spot's confined, 
Yc carry death on every wind. 

And laugh, ye men, as their vile chain 

Your idiot victims hug ; 
And mock, as they suck endless pain 

From your forbidden drug. 
What's law to him who wins the goal ? 
Compared to money, what's the soul .'' 

Ye may, ye may, for Christians choose 

That deed to line the purse, 
Which " scoundrel pagans " would refuse 

With scorn to do to us. 
Yet pause, beware, and fear the rod, — 
Though conscience sleeps, there wakes a God I 

1839. 



DAY OF rilAYEIl FOR COLLEGES 

THE LAST TIILHSDAY IN KEHUUAKY. 

Oh, mother, in those college walls 

Thou hast a precious son ; 
A banqueter in learning's halls, 

And yet by want undone. 



72 

Arrayed in rings and goodly vest, 
Thick honors near him tread ; 

And yet is ho in penury drcst, 
Unfriended and unfed. 

What boots it tluit his table groans 

Witli loads of classic wheat ? 
As well feast craving mind with stones, 

As only on this meat. 
What boots it on his robes are starred 

Rare gems and Grecian gold, 
If not to him may be unbarred 

The gates of wealth untold ? 

If not to him is oped the lid 

In which the soul may look, 
And gather wisdom, never hid 

Witliin the Sybil's book ? 
Oh, why is Science racked to give 

Her buried stores to man. 
While Truth, which teaches how to live. 

Is put beneath the ban ! 

That morn he left thee, far to roam 

On life's uncertain way. 
Far from a mother — far from home, 

What couldst thou do but pray ? 
Ay, prostrate on thy closet door, 

What didst thou do but weep. 
And plead that God, for evermore, 

Thy student-lad would keep ? 



73 



Thou kncwcst the tossing ocean-world 

But little heeds his lot, 
Who to its storms has sail unfurled 

And recks the danger not. 
Thou knewest tliat many a noble heart, 

As proudly glad as he, 
The light of home, has folly quenched 

In that tumultuous sea. 

Ah ! little didst thou deem of feet 

That ever lurk within 
The Muse's most secure retreat, 

To draw her sons to sin ; — 
Or of the outward twining flower, 

Or pearl within the cup. 
That woos them at the unguarded hour 

To drink the poison up. 

To prayer ! to prayer ! a teeming cloud 

Is on the land this hour ; 
'Twill rise to heaven, and deep, not loud, 

Will be the plenteous siiowcr. 
Wilt thou not haste with eager joy. 

And in its blessings share ? 
Wilt thou not for thy perilled boy 

Entreat .-* — To prayer ! to prayer ! 

Go ! for on moments of rich grace. 
The world's high issues rest ; — 

Not only he may find the place 
Of mercy and be blest, 



74 



But thousands, through the mighty word 

Thy herald-son will bear, 
Sluill live for aye ! — Art thou not stirred ? 

To prayer ! this hour to prayer ! 



THE PALM TREE. 

Beautiful tree of the towering stem ! 
Wearing thy flowers like a diadem — 
Whose leafy garlands, always green, 
Always fair and flowing are seen ; 
Whose scarlet fruit, like coral bright. 
To the longing traveller yields delight ; 
Noblest thou of the forest throng ! 
To thee I give a simple song. 
I never saw thee, princely plant. 
In Syria's vales, nor in thy haunt — 
" The city of palm trees," Jericho, 
Nor where the Jordan's currents flow, 
Nor where the mighty Lebanon sees. 
In pride, his aged cedar trees. 
Nor where is found the clustering vine, 
Or tempting olive of Palestine. 
Nor in the distant desert, where 
Palmyra's solemn ruins are ; — 
Yet I have loved thee, since a boy, 
It was at home my glad employ 
To read, beneath my father's eye, 
In Holy Writ; — and gladly I 



75 



Did in the blessed Sabbath's calm, 

Read and talk of the stately palm ; 

That the good shall be like the flourishing tree, 

Planted by the gushing river ; 

Which yields in his season his fruit, and he, 

The evergreen, shall never wither. 

The pilgrim eagerly looks for Thee, 

When faint and almost spent with thirst ; 

He knows where thou art, guiding tree ! 

The cool deep waters freshly burst. 

O thus may I to my Saviour seek, 

When in this desert faint and weak. 

Assured that He my steps will show 

Where springs of life eternally flow. 



SLEEP. 

Sleep is awful. — Byron. 

To him at strife with conscience, sleep 

Must be a thing of dread ; 
What images of horror leap 

Like fiends about his bed ! 
He tosses on the eider down, — 

The finely textured sheet 
That wraps his body, fails to give 

The rest to nature sweet. 

Yet is sleep " awful ? " — Ask the hind 
That plods among the corn, 



76 



How seemeth slumber unto him, 

Who toils from rosy morn 
Till welcome evening browns the hills ; 

Ho laughs at such a word ; 
What is there awful to his breast 

By no ill musings stirred ? 

In visions of the night, when earth, 

So late in arms, is dumb, 
And all is hushed, save troubled thoughts 

That like dark phantoms come, — 
How sadly rise, in long array, 

The deeds men deemed were fled ! 
How busy cruel memory then. 

With things long fancied dead ! 

Tlicn sleep is awful — wonder not 

That he who sin did choose, 
?till found all things designed for good. 

To yield him good refuse. 
Or that in his soul's agony, 

With every mercy given 
He battled, who in madness waged 

Impotent war with Heaven.* 

To such, each gift of love, of life, 

Each than the other worse — 
Can only be, in its abuse, 

A constant, bitter curse, 

* Vide Lord Byron's verses on completing his thirty- sixth year : 
The Are that on niv bosom preys 
Is loiie as some volccinic isle, &c. 



77 

For what to virtue blessings are, 
Most sweet, and safe and kind. 

Are cvlls^ terrible to him 
Of sin-distempered mind. 



IDOLS. 

On receiving from Rev. A. Judson, missionary in Burmah, a 
Boodh, which was taken by him from a deserted tempJe on the 
banks of the Selwin. 

Tin: idols of the orient boW 
Abashed, to a superior power ; 
And weeds offend the pilgrim now. 
Where flaunted priest, and glittered tower. 

They come ! they come ! from silent shrines 
Of Gunga, and the blue Selwin ; 
Though dumb — to us convincing signs 
Of rising truth and falling sin. 

They come ! those conquered gods ! to stir 
Our lagging faith, and show that He 
Whose is the church, will give to her 
The world beyond the Indian sea. 

And BooDH ! — that from the sculptor's hand 
Dropt, fresh in marble, years ago. 
Sent me by one of that true band. 
Whose future crowns arc starred below — 



7B 



Though thy recumbent chiselled limbs 
Are spotted now, mothinks, with blood, 
Poured ages since, 'mid hellish hymns 
Of praise to guilt's incarnate god ; 

Yet hail 1 here thy presence ! not 
Exultingly, o'er senseless stone ; 
Or haughtily, because my lot 
Is cast where better things are known ; 

But gladly — for thou tellest me 
The fiend of darkness plumes his wings. 
And earth, enlightened, hastes to be 
Subjected to the King of kings. 



DEATH AT THE MIRROR. 

The case of a you nj; and beautiful lady is mentioned, who, 
while arrayiiii; herself before the mirror, for her bridal, was 
struck with death. 

Oh, Death ! 'tis thine to choose 
Strange time to execute the stern decree ; 
As if provoked that mortals still refuse, 
In their forge tfulness, to learn of thee. 

Not only youth thy dart 
Searches with silent and unerring aim. 

But at the moment when the warm, full heart 
Nourishes hope, and joy's delicious llame. 



79 



Thou layest the beauty low. 
And then, in mockery of all that's fair, 

Dost bid us gaze, and see what empty show, 
What dust and ashes our fond idols are. 



SONG FROM SCRIPTURE. 

And tlit^y ahall see his face. — Revelation .xxii. 4. 

Thky tell of the region of bliss, 

And its tree of twelve manner of fruits, 

On whose leaf falls the lightest wind's kiss, 
And clearest of streams on its roots. 

They tell of the city, whose walls 

Are jasper, whose pavements are gold ; 

The splendor that lightens its halls, 
Immortals may only behold. 

They tell me its gates, of one pearl, 

Shall never be folded by day ; 
His curtain night ne'er shall unfurl 

O'er its bright and its beautiful way ; — 

That those wearing raiment which flames 
With glory, — who endlessly look 

In beauty, unwrinkled, are names 

Written down in the Lamb's blessed book ; 



80 



That strings tremble there to the touch, 
Delicious, ;ind thrilling, and deep ; —^ 

The music tlioy utter is such 
As maketli lull happiness weep. 

They say there shall never be curse, 
For the throne of the Holy is there ; 

Once entered those portals, for us 
No longer is sin or despair. 

'Tis wondrous ! — 'tis great to the soul ! 

Yet the jewel that crowneth the place, 
And preciousness gives to the whole, 

My Lord ! is the smile of thy face. 



SUNDAY SCHOOL MISSIONARY 

He traverses the fertile fields 
Of pleasant Maryland ; 
And in the Old Dominion 
Doth the missionary stand. 
In sunny Carolina's 
Pine and cotton ground, 
Qj the flooded rice plantation, 
The journeyer is found. 
Along the fervid plains 
Of Georgia, not delaying. 
Among the growth of canes 
Of Alabama, straying. 



81 

And onward, onward goeth he, 
Unwcariod in liis way, 
Till lioarsfly thunders on his ear 
The surging Florida. 

lie climbs the Alleghany's side, 

And seeth from its crown 

Ohio's ever busy tide 

To ocean sweeping down. 

He tempts the waters — on he hies, 

A transitory guest — 

And open to his joyous eyes 

The splc!ndors of tiie West. 

By vineyards and by villages. 

By island groups that gem 

The river, by the wooded slopes — 

He stayeth not for them. 

Nor pauseth he at Grave creek. 

Nor nieasureth the mound, — 

There are dead beyond that ought to live. 

And lost that must be found ! 

Nor minds he Marietta's sheen. 
Nor Blannerhasset's isle ; 
Nor where, confessedly a queen, 
Doth Cincinnati smile. 
Kentucky sees the traveller. 
And in her settlemerits 
He speaketh, as he journeyeth. 
Of glorious intents. 
6 



82 

And Indiana hears him ; 
Anon, his cheerful voice 
Breaks on the flowery prairies 
Of distant Illinois. 
Upon him vast Missouri 
Bursts like a virgin world ; 
And gorgeous Louisiana, 
Where commerce is unfurled. 

And wherefore from Atlantic comes 

The traveller, and whence 

The errand that he must impart, 

Before he goeth hence ? 

Why is the Southron's country trod 

By him who needeth rest ? 

Why seeks that zealous man of God 

The valley of the West? 

From Alleghany to the sea, 

From ocean to the lake — 

From where its solemn echoes 

Niagara doth wake — 

To j)our the sunl}(rht of the sky 

Upon the vnculturcd wild, 

To show the love that God on high 

Hath for the little child! 

Where nods the giant sycamore, 
Where grows the wild papaw. 
To rear the floweret that from Heaven 
Its nutriment shall draw. 



83 

To stud the boundless prairie 

With trees of Lebanon, 

To pierce the noble forest depths 

With glances of the Sun ; — 

To speak of Jordan's healing 

Where Oregon doth rise — ■ 

Of Calvary, where the rocky hills 

Are towering to the skies. 

Where'er a blade of grass is seen, 

Where'er a river flows, 

To bless that waiting heritage 

With Sharon's living rose. 



DIRGE 



FOR THE THIRTY THOUSAND SLMN THE PAST VTAn UY 
INTEMPKUANCE. 

I STOOD amid the place of graves. 
Where hillocks, thick as combing waves, 

Were clustered far around. 
Death held dominion ; here liis reign 
Was absolute, o'er victims slain, 

Imprisoned in the ground. 

In sorrow's contemplative mood 
I scq,nned the mingled multitude. 
Whose sepulchres were new. 



84 



One year ago they stood with men, 
And length of days they reckoned then, 
Who now were hid from view. 

And yet from these — what fearful fall 
Was theirs ! none cared to lift the pall 

That deep oblivion spread. 
For them no tears of fond regret 
Had midnight's pillow often wet, 

Nor sigh called from the dead. 

Here was the aged father laid, 
And by his dust the sleeping maid ; 

The husband, wife, were here. 
The manly youth, his parents' pride, 
Tlie bridegroom, and the peerless bride. 

The foul worm's dainty cheer. 

Here lay the poor man, and his niche, 
Hard by, filled up the rotting rich. 

Regardless of his state ; 
Of station high, of low degree. 
The abject slave, the haughty free, 

Corruption for their mate. 

The orator of splendid name. 

The chief who taught the foe his fame. 

The giant, godlike mind, — 
The noble, generous, and sincere, 
Those prompt with pity's holy tear, 

The polished and refined. 



85 



Whence came they ? From once happy homes, 
From cottagcH, from lordly domes, 

From fin^Hidc bliss and care ; 
F'rom courts of justice, charnhfira trod 
By senators ; yea, angry God ! 

From thine own house of prayer ! 

Who slew them ? Not night's pestilence, 
That comes and goes, men know not whence, 

Nor arrow at noonday : 
They fell not in the glorious field, 
WitJi right to nerve and Heaven to shield, 

When freedom called away. 

They dif^d not as the righteous die, 
Wfien angels, pluming from the sky. 

With songs unloos(! life's chain. 
By curst Intemperance found they hell. 
And Ignominy pfniled th(! knell 

Of thirty thousand slain. 1837. 



THB CON G RE ri A TTON A L CHURCH, 
PlllLADELl'JllA. 

I'm glad that at length the materials appearing. 
Prepared for the builder, and piled in our street. 

Proclaim that the pious, unwearied, are rearing 
A dome where the sons of the pilgrims may meet ; 



86 



A place where the cares which the week sets in motion, 
Tlio bustle of business, the world and its dreams, 

May fade in the nobler pursuits of devotion. 

When the Sabbath of rest heaven's antopast seems. 

I'm ^"lad, that, with hallowed monition, a spire 

Will rise from these precincts, and touchingiy tell 
That here men may come and learn destinies higher 

Than earth's, at the call of the " church-going bell. ' 
That here is appointed the ark's holy station ; 

And down to posterity, still on this ground 
Made sacred alone by the Dove's consecration, 

Will manna at morning and evening be found. 

I'm glad, for the bliss that in boyhood I tasted, 

I hope in this edifice yet to renew ; 
When up to the meeting-house duly 1 hasted. 

And sat with the rest in the family pew ; 
And listened with reverence, and made my endeavor 

To fasten on memory the chapter and text ; 
And watched the good minister, though I could never 

The argument scan that my reason perplexed. 

I'm glad, for remembrance yet lingers around him. 

The man of three-score, whom sincerely I thought 
Unrivalled ; — the ties to his people that bound him, 

I knew nor by meanness nor flattery Avere bought. 
And years as they ])assed, more his goodness revealing, 

Endeared him yet more to the hearts he had won ; 
Refreshing e'en now to the soul's languid feeling, 

Are thouffhts of that warrior whose conflict is done I 



87 



I'm glnd, for though he has hm pilgrimage oiKlcd, 

AimI many iihoiil him in vif^or iiiid bloom, 
And moHt ol' lh(; agi-d, with liim have dcHcendrd 

To fimil rojxjso, and nrv hxlgc'd in the tomb, 
1 k)v«' to lliink of them; the Hootliing rcfh'ction 

Of diiys h>ng d('i)art('d, to mo liaH no dread ; 
"J'is Hweet to retrace tliem, nor in tlicre dejection 

III f hoiijrbl.s ofold Kc-cii('s,obl (U^lights, and the dead. 

And proiiilly a Hon of New Enghind will cheriwh 

'l'h(^ customs which absence i)ut serves to <'ndcar ; 
lie nuiy nuMisure earlli's kin<^(loiiiK, but never shall 
lierish 

'I'he smile of his ehildiiood, or infancy's tear ! 
And, therefore, I'm glad tli:i.t my fond recolh'ction 

Miiy here be <'xcited to look on the past ; 
Tliis bouse, wilii its ritual, will eall up aflection 

For uiueh tluit was pleasant, too pleasant to last. 

I'm }j;la(l, for 1 know tbat the heart of the ranger 

'J'hese walls will remind of the home of his love, 
As here in his worship he joins with the stranger, 

III the way of his fathers, now gathered above. 
And h(;re th(^ sojourner, with sweeter emotion, 

Will take of the hope that religion inspires, 
As mingles uncln^cked in th(^ tide of devotion, 

A spiritual thought of the land of his sires. 

I'm gliul, for unvexed by discpiiet that's reigning 
So sadly, when; strife, most of all, ou^lit to cease. 

Mere a church may Ije banded, intent upon gaining 
Jlecruits to the Hag ol' the Captain ol* i'eace. 



88 



And ever may concord, the bond of the Spirit, 
In one join its members, thus truly to live ; 

As sons and as daughters, each bosom inherit 

The peace, passing knowledge. He only can give ! 

I'm glad, for I hope that to ages will flourish 

Within this enclosure, the plants of the Lord ; 
And grace from his treasury like showers will nourish 

The trees that are full of the sap of the word. 
And here would I hope that the principles tested 

So long in old Plymouth — so fitted to mock 
The assaultings of error — may thrive unmolested. 

Our pride, too, as theirs, who first stepped on the rock. 

I'm glad, for a watchman they've called to this tower, 

From the shrine of the Stoddards and Edwards he 
came, — 
Whose message already gives token of power. 

Whose zeal is of pure evangelical flame. 
And long may this lamp of the fresh oil be lighted. 

Fed richly by unction that cometh from high ; 
And burn on this pathway, where thousands,benighted, 

Shall gaze, and in penitence turn to the sky. 

I'm glad, then, at length the materials appearing. 

Prepared for the builder, and piled in our street, 
Proclaim that the pious, unwearied, are rearing 

A dome where the sons of tlie pilgrims may meet. 
Oh ! Thou who hast laid, to the shame of the scorner. 

In Zion, foundations — who only art skilled 
To plan thine own glory — the keystone and corner, 

To Thee, blessed Trinity ! only they build. 



89 



ROBERT RAIKES, IN THE SUBURBS 
OF GLOUCESTER. 

" It was his custom to visit in person the families of the poor, 
and to persuade the parents to feel interested in the well-being of 
their children ; while at the same time he persuaded the children 
to come to the Sunday school." 

And who is he that's seeking, 

With look and language mild, 
To heal the heart that's breaking, 

And glad the vagrant child .'' 
He searches lane and alley, — 

The mean and dark abode, — 
From Satan's hosts to rally 

The conscripts dne to God. 

With words of kindly greeting, 

Warm from an honest heart, 
He's ignorance entreating 

In knowledge to have part. 
With charity unfailing, 

He patiently doth take 
Rebuke and sinful railing, 

For Christ the Shepherd's sake. 

He wins from vicious mothers 

The children of neglect; 
The sisters and the brothers 

From households sadly wrecked. 



00 

And those, tho truth impressing, 
Beneath his ovntle rule, 

Have called on liini a blessino-, 
Who formed the Sunday scliool. 

Id rather my life's story 

Should liavp such episode, 
Than all the gorcroous glory 

Napoleon's history showed. 
For when no more war's banner 

With shouting is unfurled, 
Those children's sweet hosauna 

JMay shako the upper worUi. 



THE ANGER OF MOSES. 

AViTH angry blow he smote the roek, 

The obedient waters freely ran, — 
Refreshing to the herd and tloek, 

Delicious to the lip of man. 
He smote it twice, " And Israel ! " 

He muttered thus in scorning then- 
" Must we bid cool sweet waters well 

From rocks for 3-0, rebellious men ! 

Heaven hears, and lor this single sin, 
Its high displeasure waxeth hot ; 

The fruitful land he thouglit to win, 
He may behold, but enter not. 



91 



Oh, God, if nov) llio wanderer found 
For his one error doom like this, 

Who of our race could feel the ground 
Secure, of hope for Canaan'a bliss ! 



THE FLAG. 

On fi«;oing tlio nclli<:l I'liiK, Hciit tfi Ui<; American (Jhapf'I al 
Havre, l)y the ladies <if ifie First Preabylerian Cliurch in I'liila- 
dulphia. 

Wk fiend the blazoned dove and ark. 

For foreign winds to kiss — 

To her who in our fortunes dark, 

Gave us the fb-ur-de-lis ; 

Which streamed above the artillery's roar. 

And the roll of the warlike drum : — 

That symbol speaks of strife no more, 

That martial strain is dumb. 

Not mindless of the debt we owe, — 
Who shall such claim forget ? — 
We would our choic(;st boon bestow 
On the land of loved Fayette ! 
No gold or gauds the gift enhance 
Which comes on zephyr's wings ; 
Our simple guerdon bears to France 
Word from the King of kings. 



92 



We'll not forget, while memory holds 

Its place, her prowess, nor 

How proudly waved the Bourbon folds 

Above the fields of war. 

But oh, this banner tells of fame 

Earth's pennons cannot win, — 

Of victory, in Immanuel's name, 

O'er helmed hosts of sin. 

How glorious those old hills of pride 
That lift their tops in green, 
Where Orleans' lilies, side by side, 
With freedom's stars were seen ! 
But how much dearer to the mind. 
Thoughts which these waken now 
Of peace and pardon, star-entwined, 
That beam from Calvary's brow ! 

How dazzling was that eagle's flight 
From Notre-dame to Rome, 
Which blasted nations with its light 
And sat at last in doom ! 
But this fair type that hath the dove 
Of gentle peace unfurled, 
Doth stir ambition far above 
The conquest of a world. 

Then go ! — the flag Religion sends, — 
And designate the dome 
Of worship, where the sailor bends 
To Him who had no home ; — 



Who often taught within the ship, 
Deemed stricken and unblest — 
The lofty mandate of whose lip 
Awed once wild seas to rest. 

Not only on the Gallic coasts, 
Or Loire, or winding Seine, — 
Not only o'er her naval hosts 
Or troops of her terrene — 
But let each ocean, river, bay, 
Each vale and mountain crag 
Of Europe — yes, of earth, display, 
Oh, God ! thy victor flag. 



BLESSING THE BATTLE. 

Father, I call on thee I 

Clouda of the cannon smoke around me are wreathing ; 

Guider of battles, I call on Thee ! 

Korner^s Prayer daring Fight. 

It may be that the weal of nations. 

Their honor scorned, or questioned right, 

Require, indeed, no lesser umpire 
To arbitrate, than ruthless fight. 

It may be that the ringing trumpet, 
And piercing fife, and sullen drum. 

And garments rolled in blood, and murmurs, 
Discordant, of the battle's hum ; — 



94 



Shrieks of the wounded and the dying^, 
The wreck of limb and waste of life, 

The fury of dovourini^ carnag'e, 
And all the circuinstance of strife, 

Are vrccssarij to the order 

And comforl of this world of ours, 

Which has no sweet without a bitter. 
Nor witiu)ut tliorns possesses llowers. 

And yet when brothers uiurdcT brotJK^rs, 
To ask God's blessino- on the deed — 

And crave his grace where onward slaughter 
Leaves living hearts behind to bleed. 

Is urging far the holy mockery, — 
Is acting farce to mercy's view : 

I may be wrong, for Honor's something, — 
Man on a dcatk-bcd ! what think ijou ? 



MECHANICS* TEMPERANCE HYMN 

Shall the bone and nuiscle Heaven 
Lent us, shall subduing skill 

To an enemy be given ? 

Shall the red wine triumph still ? 



96 



Eacli of us, around whoso dwelling 

Labor's auiph? blessings ilow, 
Feids his manly bosom swelling 

With indignant answer, No ! 

Shall the freedom falchions bought us, — 

When our injured land rose up, 
Which to cherish, Time has taught us, 

Co surrendered to the cup ? 
Wo — God bless them ! lov(! Uio story 

Of our fatiiers and the foe. 
And we answer, by their glory. 

And the boon they left us. No ! 

Raging drink ! thou'lt not enslave us; 

Sparkling bowl ! thou now art dim ; 
Angel Temperance stoops to save us 

From the death within thy brim. 
Save us ! Yes, though we were spell bound, 

Fixed in very sight of wo. 
Yet The Pledge shall free the hell bound : - 

Will we wear those shackles ? No. 

From the flood's o'erwhelming power, 

We unto this ark liav(! fled ; 
Whence we gaze, in safety's hour, 

On the dying and the dead. 
Now, of God, earth's sons and daughters — 

As on high he sets his bow — 
Ask, if shall return those waters .' 

And Jehovah answers, No ! 



96 



THE BRIDE OF THE CANTICLES 

Who socks hor Lord in glorious guise, 

Unparalk'K'd in grace — 
Love beaming from her wondrous eyes, 

And beauty from her fivce ? 
With whom all similes must die, 

All power of language faint, 
Whose charms, with pencil from the sky, 

"Twcre sacrilege to j)aint ? 

Why droops her head in anguish thus ? 

Whence tlioso delicious tears ? 
As if an angel showed to us 

How angel grief appears. 
What accents murmur like a dream 

Of music, from her lips ? 
As when in sorrow's saddest theme, 

His soul the minstrel dips. 

'Tis slie — tiie Saviour's purchased Bride, 

On wluMu earth's light is dim — 
For whom heaven's brilliance has no pride, 

Reflected not by Him ! 
She bows lier in her lonely grief; 

Shall she make suit in vain ? 
Come, Thou ! of every joy the chief, 

And take thy Bride again. 



97 



TO A YOUNG LADY WHO WAS 
BAPTIZED IN INFANCY. 

Thk seal of the covenant, given 

On your forehead, for ever will tell — 
A star in the briii-htuess of heaven, 

Or spark in tlu; glimni'ring of hell, — 
That you were in infancy laid, 

A bud in its tenderest hour, 
On His bosom, who kindly has said 

That dearer is such than the flower ; 
And that you volition had here, — 

A mortal cast out in your blood, — 
To rise to Infinity's sphere, 

A worm, yet a daughter of God, 
Or fall to a depth of despair 

Which angels undone never knew : 
To one of these portions you are 

Inlicritor, What will you do ? 

The rainbow that rests on the cloud. 

When the wearied out tempest would sleep, 
A sign that God never will sliroud 

Earth again in the waves of the deep — 
Was not, to tlie patriarcii Noah, 

Surer test of unchangeable word. 
Than is this, that His own, evermore. 

Are safe from the wrath of the Lord ; — 
7 



9S 



For llio seal on your forclicad, tlio love 

Of Josus as suroly dolli show, 
As Morcy's, wIumi wovimi abovo, 

Is the fading and boaiitifnl bow. 
Tliis fiui(>s not ! — it briojilly shall be 

Ininiortal nuMntMito to yon 
Of grace, if from prril yon ll(<o, 

Or rnin — say, U'/ml irill i/ou do f 



TO THOMAS MOORE, ESQ. 

Mi\ mo, cliild, a cup divine. 

Crystal water, niliy wiiio; 

Here, upon this llowinii; bowl, 

I surrender all luy soul ! — J\Ioorc\f ^nacrroii. 

TiMi'.s are altered, Thomas Moore ! 

Since this rhapsody of thine ; 
Men, to reason broiioht, adore 

Other Deity than wine : 
None will madly pliMlge the sonl 
JVoiCy upon the llowing bowl. 

Times are altered, Thomas Moore ! 

Drinking hard is not genteel — 
Since 'tis fouml this inncn- eore 

Of the heart is made to feel : 



99 

Where the revel once had grace, 
Wife and children now have place. 

Times are altered, Thomas Moore ! 

Mi'n, of ^audy vice; afraid, 
Count, aH something worwe than bore, 

Paphian boy and Jiacchante maid ; 
Or the butterfly that sipH 
Sparkling cui)S and rosy lips. 

TimeH arc; altered, Thoniiis Moore ! 

Doubtful 8on<>- has had its day ; 
If you give us Grecian lore. 

Leave Jhi.ar.rcon out, we pray. 
Purge your book and cleanse your heart, 
Ere you from the stage depart. 



SMYRNA.* 

To Smyrna's angel Jesus said 

That she should sit awhile in dust, — 

B(! tried, cast down, yet from the dead 
ilcstored by Him who conciuered first. 

And silent centuries have slej)t 

Since she, beneath tlie Moslem's power, 
In darkness and in shame has wept ; — 

Now dawns at luiiirth the promised hour. 

* Revelation ii. x. 



100 

The promised hour ! — devoted men,* 
Whose eager feet are swift to go — 

Shall faith tcith us be languid, when 
Her eagle vision fires ye f No ! 

We well believe, that as ye toil 
Where trials kindled, sore and sharp, 

In yon Levant, and tread the soil 
That drank the blood of Polycarp ; 

And journey where anointed Paul 
With kindred errand, gladly trod, 

Obedient to the heavenly call. 
And chosen also unto God ; 

That He will shield you ! Yea, invite. 
When past earth's scornings and renown • 

Where Polycarp is robed in light. 

And Paul in meekness wears the crown. 



THEY SAY THE GOBLET'S CROWNED 
WITH FLOWERS. 

TiiKY say the goblet's crowned with flowers, 
And round its brim do brightly shine, 

Like gems, remembered joys and hours. 
The treasures of immortal wine ; — 

* Missionaries to Smyrna. 



101 

We know the cup is wreathed with plants 
More deadly than the Upas tree ; 

Its richest recollection haunts 
The soul with all that's misery. 

They say the draught has potent spell 

To wean the thought from ills away. 
And raise the drooping one to dwell 

Where dreamy night is changed to day. 
JVe deem the wretch may never know 

The meaning of unmixed despair, 
Till, tempted by his direst foe. 

He seeks the cup and finds it there. 

Some vow in unextinguished hate. 

With Alcohol no terms to hold ; — 
" From ALL that can intoxicate ! " 

We write upon our banner's fold ; 
For we, the sons, have marshalled strong 

On fields that wear our fathers' name ; 
Their glorious dust gives back the song 

Once more, of freedom and of fame. 

Nor marches in our ranks the slave 

That dares his heritage to stain ; 
Not one to clank above the grave 

Of tyranny, a sensual chain. 
Oh, no ! — did round it pleasant flowers 

Of wooing tints and fragrance twine, 
We are the free, and 'tis not ours 

In bonds to tarry at the wine. 



102 



PATIENT BECAUSE ETERNAL. 

Yea, thou forboarest, Lord, 
Thou rcndcrest not reward 

Due to my sin. 
Thou knowcst all my heart, 
Yet with me patient art. 

Me, vile within ! 

Though irritable these 

My passions are, — like seas 

Raging aloud, — 
Tempests that mock control. 
Vexing my weary soul. 

Yet am I proud. 

Yea, proud — though of a day 
That's vanishing away : 

Lord, I would learn 
Meekness of tliee, and bear 
Whate'er thou send'st of care, 

Nor trials spurn. 

Rebelliously doth flesh 
Involve me in the mesh 
Of hurtful strife. 

* St. AHSii.stine. 



103 

Witliin my nature dwell 
TIk^ sparkrt thai, kiiulh* lioll ; 
JIolp, for my life ! 

Like touchwood, T tlie flame 
Do catcli. Lord, 'lis with shame 

My Bhaiue 1 own. 
Bathe me anew in blood 
That guslies, in rich flood, 

Fast from thy throne. 

Tliou wast ! TJjou art! wilt be ! 
Vouchsafe to lesson me 

To bear thy will. 
From open foes, false friends, 
And all thy love intends, 

Submissive still. 

Even as thy l)lessed Son, 
The meekly suffering One, 

Th(^ Deity; 
Patiiuit, when woke the sword, 
From whom li-ll never word 

Vindictively. 

Who did not inward fret 
Wlicn sorely him beset 

The powers infernal : 
Most j)ati(Hitly who cried. 
Most |)atiently who died, 

JJ(u;ause Eternal ! 



104 



A P O S T Jl () V 1 1 !•: 

TO iHK KEiJ.ovv THAT l^•^l^•^IANI,Y siior iiii.; iiuht imkd ov 

KruiP<(.' IN NKW IIAVKN. — 18H8. 

VV^iio .iii tliou, rniliff ! that with borrowed gun 

Aim! stolen ])()\vdor, .'liincd iliy iv\on shot, 

111 cruelty's iiicro wantonness, at one, 

Much thy superior, that had harni(>d thee not ? - 

Art ihou not some most miserable bore — 
No freshman, but an old experienced cheat ? 
Tbon canst not senior be, or sojiliomore — 
I'erhnps a tailor out of Chapel street ? 

No ! lor a tailor is an honest man ; 

Hut tiiou art nothing tliat can be of use ; 

A heartless sinner against nature's plan, 

VVIio ne'er designed such an unfeathered goose. 

Diana's temple at old Ephesus, 
Was burnt once by a fool that wanted fame ; 
l^il thou, whose deed of cruelty men curse, 
More knave tiian fool, concealest thy foul name. 

Whoe'er thou art, I only wish that ghost 
Of murdered swallow, or j)oor bob-a-liuk. 
May perch at midnight on thy scant bedpost 
And see a coward 'neath the blanket slink. 



105 



And 1li:i1 wlu'iH''(!r for imiHin llioii doHt wi^li, 
IuhI.c^'kI of bird's, a tcniiii^ant's shrill imlc 
Thou'll-luMir, and wh(!Ji thou wouldstjlcvour duck jmc, 
A piece of bono might tarry in thy throat. 



COMMUNTON HYMN. 

Ililiiilil liiH p;illi<l fiirw!, liJH hcnvy frown, 
And wliiit a lliroriK of tliicvcH liiin mocking Ntaiid ! 
Curno fortli, yc empyrean troopH ! coino fortli, 
I'roHcrvo tliw Kacn;<l bidod that (.'arlli adorriK, 
(iatlier tliuHt; liciiiid roHCH ot)° IiIh tliorriM. 

Druviinond of Hawtliornilcii, l.'iK'j. 

To Hcc, niy TiOrd, Miy body flms 

In ruins, is a fci'irl'iil tbin^- ; 
And yd, it bonr a. way the cnrsc! 

Fr(»ni sin, and drr^w the S|)oilcr'H Hting. 
TheHo IrafTirionts of thy bruised Ib'sh 

Are Bweet as breath of mornin^'n I)Iooni, — 
Lik(! eaHt((rri Hpic(!S, that, afresh, 

Do, broken, y'n)U\ tlniir best {xTfiiine. 

To drink thy bh)o<l, ho fnjely Hpilt, 

Methinks is awful, stran^<? dcrli^-jit, — 
And yet (^aeh drop eilaees {(uilt. 

Its currents wasli my crimson white;. 
Ah new in vintafrc; drank, tlu; wine 

Iji(!H choicest on tin; [)a.late, so 
This, taHt(!d, whil(! J j)ress the viiie. 

Doth dcj»th and life and richness show. 



106 

To manifest, till thou shalt come, 

Thy dreadful death by type so frail, 
Is wondrous, — yet, till gathered home, 

Thy church to do it, will not fail. 
While dark neglect wraps realms and kings. 

How live in light, years cannot dim, 
Memorials of most precious things — 

The bread and wine and simple hymn ! 



NOBILITY. 

During the delivery of tiie medals at the Franklin school, one 
of the youthful candidates, on receiving tins i^yuibol of approba- 
tion, overcome by his emotion, burst into tears. 

I CANNOT choose but think this noble lad 

Hath something great within him. This full tide 
That flows so freely, tokens tliat a spring 

Of generous feeling wells up in his breast. 
And these are precious tears ! — a bosom glad — 

A heart alive to just ambition's pride — 
A spirit, that in eager strife will fling 

Away all obstacles, are here confest. 
Go on ! — the path is open, and the same 

In which trod Franklin and our Washington ! 
What hinders, that in future day thy name 

Is with theirs named — undying honors won — 
And thou, a parent's triumph, a republic's joy, 
Who now, the modest victor, art a Boston boy ! 



107 



"NIPPED I' THE BUD." 

I. 

Our little cousin diod, and when such die 

Verse doth embalm them ; wealth of imagery 

Is clustered, to show forth their perfect bliss 

In that high world which has no taint of this ; 

And they are likened to the cherubim — 

Their infant pipes tuned to the mighty hymn 

Whose sound is that of waters, or a germ 

Of floweret, men deem such, wliich the foul worm 

In secret preyed on — and it withered — died, — 

Only to live again, and bloom in pride 

With plants of pleasant hue and smell, where trod 

Never the spoiler, yea, with amaranths of God. 

II. 

Our cousin died. Sufficeth it to say 

That if beyond the illimitable way. 

Where helplessness lifts not beseeching eye, 

Imploring succor, — where the innocent sigh 

Of childhood, and its frequent tear are not, — 

If there are gathered infants, she, we wot. 

Is with them ; and to-day, while we in sadness 

Dwell on her fond remembrance, she in gladness 

Is casting cat His feet the harp and crown. 

Who calls such little ones, and bends no frown 

On children, but doth willingly prepare [there. 

Room in his heart for such. Abby ! we leave thee 



108 



DECAY. 

One day in merry June, I, then a lad, 

Strolled forth with a companion — one who had 

Strange curiosity, that sometimes led 

His footsteps to the mansions of the dead ; 

And he the way directed thither. Soon 

We stumbled on the grave-stones that in noon 

Glared scorchingly. Anon, along the grass 

In thoughtlessness we passed and did repass, — 

Reading quaint rhymes ; and sometimes, too, we knelt. 

Closely to search how epitaphs were spelt, 

Trying in cherub's stony face to scan 

Some likeness, or of angel or of man. 

Till, presently, we chanced upon a tomb. 

Whose rusty bolt had been forced backward : — room 

Wanted for some now tenant. Cheerful day 

Looked on its sullen chamber : sunbeams lay, 

Unwonted, on the floor, and glanced along 

On coffins, ranged in undistinguished throng. 

I was but wary then, about all things 

Connected with the dead : the secret springs 

That move imagination, I nor knew 

Nor cared about ; but as religion, true, 

Held all the stories which do appertain 

To spirit- worlds, nor had such learned in vain ; 

And therefore, tremblingly, I stole a glance 

At the dread cavern's secrets. Not so he, 

My comrade, who with jesting, carelessly 



109 



Groped down the steps, and rudely raised a lid, 
That from the eye Decay's sad doings hid. 

I never may forget what then I saw. 
Years have passed since, but, true to memory's law, 
That spectacle is fresh to memory now, 
As when I bent o'er that sepulchre's brow. 
I see her still ! how painfully ! — a woman, young 
She seemed, who lay there. As if she had flung 
But lately, her tired limbs along that bed ; — 
Pressing its pillow, easily, her head 
Did seem reclining. Yet methought sweet sleep 
It was not like ; — but a repose more deep, 
That stirred not, when the hungry reptile left 
His slime upon her cheeks. Ay, when he reft 
His hourly meal from lips that chid him not ! 
Suffice it that I, shuddering, left the spot. 
With thoughts which time has but confirmed, that we 
Should render all due rites that decency. 
Love and religion ask, to those who die ; 
But never, the tomb's mysteries to descry, 
Should we with curiosity explore 
The place of the departed. Buried, then, 
Oh, let their dust be sacred from the ken 
Of human eye ! Not tomb of Pere-la-Chaise, 
Mount Auburn, Laurel Hill, with sculpture gay, 
Or gayer flowers, to me hath any charm ; — 
'Tis but a tomb. Give me, for slumber, calm, 
The quiet grave, where dust, once hid, may lie 
Secure from vulgar handling ; where the eye 
Of love is satisfied, if on the sod 
It rests, of him whose spirit is with God. 



no 



JOHN ELIOT, OF ROXBURY. Obit. 1600. 

" Such priest as Cliaucor sans; in fervent lays, 
Siicli as the heaven taui;ht skill of Herbert drew." 

There arc, who leaving house and lands and home, 
Take up the exile's lot, and far hence go 
Unto the Gentiles, winning them from wo ; 

And sweetly teaching such as wildly roam, 

Stedfast to be in Christ. Their temple dome 
None other than what woods and skies bestow. 
Foremost of tliese. Apostle ! thee we know ; — 

And when at judgment to award do come 
The self-denying servants of the King, 

Thou, faithful with the faithful, wilt be seen. 
And for thy jewels wilt, triumphant, bring — 

To which the starry gems of heaven are mean — 
The Indian, by the Spirit rendered free, 
Through Truth translated, taught, and lived by thee. 



NAMES OF CHRIST. 

Jesus of Bethlehem, some delight to name 
My gracious Master, and the word doth claim 
Sweet thouglits of innocence and gentle youth. 
And helplessness of Him, the Life and Truth. 
Jesus of Nazareth, the Galilean, 
Despised of men, thus titled of men's spleen, 



Ill 



Yet style delighted in by humble hearts ; — 
Which of these pleaseth most ? — The early parts 
Of his great tragedy have interest, 
Yet that which endeth, noblest is, and best. 
Bethlehem and Nazareth cannot else but fail 
Tokening the blood that doth with God prevail ; 
And therefore, otlier clioosing, fondly, I 
Know him and love, Jksus of Calvauy. 



WITITEFrELD. 

On accin<^ his remains in tlicir resting place, at Newburyport, 

MaHsaciuiscllH, ricpt. 11, 18:i7. 

And this was Wiiitei' iklo ! — this, the dust now 
blending 

With kindn^d dust, that wrapt his soul of fire, — 
Which, from the mantU; freed, is still ascending 

Through regions of far glory, holier, higher. 

Oh, as I gaze here with a solemn joy 

And awful reverence, in which shares Decay, 

Who, this fair frame reluctant to destroy, 
Yields it not yet to doom which all obey, — 

How follows thought liis flight, at Love's command, 
From hemispheres in sin, to hemispheres. 
Warning uncounted multitudes with tears, — 

Preaching the risen Christ on sea and land, — 
And noio those angel journeyings above ! 
Souls, his companions, saved hy such unwearied 
love ! 



IB 



TIAIUUET NEWKT.L. 

Stkancki; ! llml in this Islc'-of-Fraiict' dolli tarry, 
^:^^>^>k out «)ur U AKiiiK r's solitary yravo, 

Marlv(Ml by the oviTiiTiHMi ; so inayosl ll>ou carry 
I h'lict*, wholesoiuo tlioujq^ht, roturninj»" o'er tho wave 

For this is she, whoso tloalh liath jrivon swoot liio 

To thousands. VtMi, whoso pauo's of mortal strifo 
Ihivo yiohl<>(l to tho pao-mi pnu'ious bliss. 

'JMjis islaiul is \icv luoiuimont ; — it doth b(>loni; 
To (.^hrislondoiu. Lo, ovory oni' in this 
Lov»h1 soil hath portion, that in (.^hrist hath pjirt. 

Thouo'h dear to oarly roinaiifc, by the sonir 
or siniplf Indian lovos, told to tin* Invirt 

In chariuino- story — not thy powor, St. IMtM'ro,''* 

I'lndiNirotl it, as Inr i)ationt gritvt's aiul dralh cndi-ar. 



T n E BANDS O F 1' II A \ !•: II . 

Mk\ nuH'i as strnuijorsi, and as stranoore part, 
In plt>asnrt>, or in niyst(M'i(*s oi' tho nnirt 

Fnoai'cd. In politics Ihi^y mix, and do(Mn 
In all, their i-onirades cold, and separate', 

Fach in ti\t> other owninu' no i-steein. 



* H(M»;iiiiiMt> Si. I'it-iic, tlic srciic o( whose " Taal and \'ii 
jiiaiii" in laid in Ilic Isle oi' Fiaiuo. 



113 

Tho world, in<l(»('<l, is hnl, ii. hnrron Htato ! 
Tli(» pliinlH of kiiwIIiiicHs, cxolic, tluTc, 

(ifMw limiruidly iiimI pcrinh. Yd, wo Hcc 
Jlovottlt'd iVoiii lic:i vni, llioujjrh noUii lien veil known, — 
For H()ii»H, and not, nM|iicHl.sar(' rife hclorc llic llirotic, — 
A lit' (liiil. I)iiids ( 'liriHl.H Itrollicrlioud. They Hliiirr, 

Men-ill iiiitiii.l.cd — l,li(Miyli llicy l)(> 

H(rniit>('rH, yd. IliiiH well known — llic williiifr kiU'c, 
And hcarf, llicy bind to licarl, in IrllovvHliip ol' I'rayrr. 



Tiro MAS Sll i:i»A III). 

" 'i'hat Ki'iitloiiH,Hwc('tc,nii(l S(itil(! raviNliiii^ iiiinlHtcr, iii \vliiis( 
Hoiilo llici liorrl nIkmI tilirnad his lovn ho aliiiiKhtiitly, llial llioii- 
HaiidH liavd caiiHt- to lilcsHt^ (<oil i'or liliii, even at this very tiny, 
who aru tlus KeahHifhlN iniiiiHtnty, and iiuu a man ol'a thoiiHaiid, 
indued wllii aliiinilaiicc of true Having kiio\vl(-d|{ii for hiiiisrll'c 
and othiii'ri ; roiiiKlcr oC lliir (NiiiKic'^ational ('liiihli ol' Clirint in 
( 'aiiihi'id,';c, di<'d Aii^nst 'jr>, IlilO, and was iKiihiiiriilily hiirird 
tlicii!, at (.'ainl)i'i(lK() in New Kn;;hiiid." 

SiiKiMiU) — a worlliy of llic <»ldi'n linic, 

Skilled in tln^ liriivcnly (trnl'l, and wdl inclini'd 
To Kcrvc his liOifl willi snl»Hl;iiicc, liody, mind — 
I'.isscd iVoin Old l']iiiL!;liind l,o lliis virtrin clinic. 
Where he ini^rhl. I'rrrly hrealhe f,li(> hniatli id* life. 
Yea, Id'l, ln'hind the regions vi-xcd wilh Hlrilc, 
To |)l;i.nt in pciuM* Ui(> nnrsi'ry thai, Hliould rear 
Youiiirlinjrs for heaven. — Sliepard Hojourncd Ihto. 
b 



114 



And this fair spot he fertilized with tears ; 
And these green landscapes witnessed his retreat 

For wrestling prayer. Albeit, two hundred years 
On things that die liave deeply writ their name — 
While on Mount Zion beauteous are his feet — 
Posterity revives and cherishes his fame. 



THE FORGOTTEN. 

" Of the delusions incidonl to ill lioalth, old age, or mental ab- 
erration, many are wild anil grotesque. Of the former kind is an 
instance which we find recorded, that led to the self-destruction 
of a female in Silesia. She had reached the age of one hundred 
years. All iier family having successively been conveyed to the 
tomb, she labored under the idea that God had forgotten to call 
her out of the world ! " 

To be, and not to be ! to live, and ne'er to die ! 

How terrible an endless life below ! 
To be by Heaven forgotten, while roll by 
Century after century ; and when 
The weary sojourner would gladly yield 
To long infirmity and fly the field, 
And hiimbly ask, blest boon, to perish — then 

To hear upon his hope, stern answer. No ! 
Friend after friend to see departing, deep 

Yawn the coy grave beneath, but not for him. 
Over dead friends and lovely ones to weep — 

The beautiful, the young, the lithe of limb — 
Yet he to linger still ; yea, watch yon sun 
Wax old and die, yet live — the sad forgotten one ! 



115 



TEMPERANCE SONG. 

Of old, Anacrcon woke the song 
In praise of wine ] the joyous throng 
He led, and with seducing strain 
Allured, they drank and drank again. 
His lyre to witching measure strung, 
The poet thus of pleasure sung : 
" Within this goblet, rich and deep, 
I cradle all my woes to sleep." 

In latter days, the Teian's theme 

Was still the same — the drunkard's dream, 

The drunkard's waking thoughts' employ, 

Was still to catch the flying joy ; 

In social mirth, in secret hour, 

He owned the tempter's subtle power, 

And in the goblet, rich and deep, 

Would fain have cradled care to sleep. 

Yet praise we give ! — it could not last ; 
The red cup's tyranny is past ; 
No more the soul of sensual song 
" Expires the silver harp along ; " 
Exalted man shakes off, at length. 
The sordid sin, and rallies strength ; 
For in the goblet, rich and deep. 
He sees is Virtue lulled to sleep. 



116 

With more than Bacchanalian zest 
Our lip the healthful cup has pressed ; 
The chrysolite itself is dim 
To waters sparkling on its brim ; 
No ruined joys are here, no child 
Of beggary, no mother wild ; 
Such woes this goblet, rich and deep, 
Has cradled to eternal sleep. 



JAMES IV. 13, 14. 

Go to, now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into 
such a city, and continue there a jear, and buy and sell, and gel 
gain: whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow : for 
what is your life .' It is even a vapor, that appeareth for a little 
time, and then vanisheth away. 

Hear ye now, what James, the Apostle doth say : 
Go to, ye presumptuous ! who boast that to-day 
Ye '11 toil, or to-morrow will seek such a town, 
Such a city of wealth, such a mart of renown, 
And dwell there a year, buy and sell and get gain. 
Hear now ! and be humble — your schemings are vain : 
He that sits on the circle of heaven doth laugh 
At hopes sown in wind, which shall pass like the chaff. 
Poor worms ! ye know not what shall be on the mor- 
row. 
Or riches or poverty, pleasure or sorrow. 



117 



Unknowing — to-day in possession of breath — 

If the next may not come with commission of death ; 

For what is your life ? 'Tis a thin vapor, even, 

Now here, — yet a moment and far away driven. 

The dew of the morning, the slenderest flower. 

But faintly type out the brief stay of an hour. 

As a post, as a shuttle, a meteor, a dream, 

A journey, a slumber, a race doth it seem. 

Decay hath a voice and the tomb hath a chime, 

Mournfully telling, a shadow is Time ; 

And wasting and sickness and ruin give token 

At the cistern the pitcher ere long shall be broken. 

And what, then, is man, that buildeth on high 

His Babel of cobweb to rival the sky ? 

Oh, what is this boaster of arrogant claim. 

The thought of whose nothingness crimsons with 

shame 
Tiie angels that gaze, and still wondc^r at pride 
That swells, and is swept like a mote down tlie tide I 
Should he not in his lowliness, meekly and still, 
Rather base all his wishes on If the Lord will ? 
Feeling his poverty, leanness and sin. 
Turn to the Stronghold from weakness within .'' 
To rise up betimes, bread of carefulness eat, 
To walk in his duty with diligent feet. 
Yet still with humility, lal)or and plan. 
Devise and perform all is seemly in man .-* 
Oh, surely his path is the easiest trod, 
And safest, who trustingly stays on his God. 
Surely 'tis sweet for the finite to own 
His vision, how dim, to the light of the throne, — 



118 



How puny his arm, in its iminliost might, 
To His that holds worhls up, the diamonds of night! 
His strciiirlli how Wko locbhMirss, wisdom how small. 
To tho Lord of Crt-ation, tho Maker ol' all ! 



LAZARUS. 

lUrriiANY ! on thy site, !is travellers ((>1I, 
lludc and forlorn, the warlike Arabs d\v(>ll : 
(Children of ptMUiry, slaves of misealltMl (ale, 
One God, their C«od, and Allah theirs, as great. 
Who that surveys thy misorablo state, 
Silent and dreary, could suppose^ that tho\i, 
Ruined and vile, despised, lbro-i)tten, now, 
Wast honored, once, with presence of the Blessed, 
Salvation's Prince — the world's n(>i)leet(Hl Guest .^ 
Who could suppose, where solitude is wed 
To death, that liii' came spriuoiuo- from the dead — 
When on the grav(^ was lioht of victory cast, 
And he restored, wlu) had its portals past? 
And wlu) would deem domestic bliss, so dear 
To God, earth's choicest Hower, was cultured here ? 
Bethany ! nanu» that eighteen hundrcMl years 
lias tribute^ called of sweet, (h'TK-ious tears ! 
IJethany ! name at which glatl visions conn* 
Of friendship, love, and saered charms of home ! 
With th(V\ how surt^ly rist> to t'aiiey's view, 
Martha and Mary, and their brother, too ! 



119 



LnzaruR, the brother, of llicso much holovnd, — 
And inoro — disciphi Jesus well approved ; 
Martha, with serviuii- cumbered for lier Lord ; 
Mary, that nu'ekly sat to hear lliH word. 
IJiest lif)tisehol(l ! — si in pie, poor, y(^t free from sin, 
And rich beyond compare, with Christ within. 

fiazaruH, diseased, has souoht the couch of pain ; 
The sisters ask ior Jesus — l)ut in vain. 
To do liis work, on Jordiin's fiirtjicr side 
Is He wliosc j)rescne.e could this sickness chide. 
Kralernal care wini:^s thitlicr stron^r appeal — 
" He whom th(»ii lovest is sick : Ijord, couie and heal ! " 
IT(* comes not. Surely he will messajie send 
That shall n.'buke disease, and save his IVicnd. 
No — death must have its victim, so the hour 
Of man's extreme, may show that (Jod hath power. 

Lazarus is dead ! Is not the Saviour here ? 
Not to restore, but givt^ the kindly tear: 
Oh, is lie absent.'' al)sent ne'er before 
From low abod(>s, where Sorrow keeps the door. 
Mow many weary hours they've looked for him, 
And hearts are faint, and heavy eyes are dim ! 
(yome, mournful music ! soothe the weeper's breast, 
That pours out troubled sono- for him at rest. 

Brother ! tln»u wast our youtii's delight, 
Tlu; pheasant stay of riper years ; 

Climlting with thee life's joyous height, 
What kiu'w we of a vale of tears ! 



120 



Thou wast the branch on which, in weakness, 

We, early tendrils, fondly hung ; 
Around thy glorious strength, in meekness, 

Our timid woman's love was flung. 

Brother ! a tie, whose mighty power 

Death breaks not, sweetly held us three — 
Not that we each, in life's first hour, 

Drank at one breast, and clasped one knee : 
Stronger than this — the silken cord 

That linked our souls in gentle love. 
The tie that bound us to our Lord 

So firm below, fails not above. 

Brother ! the palm at morning towers 

Its stem by Jordan's placid stream, 
And shows its crown of leaves and flowers. 

Bathed in the burning noonday's beam : 
At eve, the sorrowing maidens see 

The bruised stem, the broken bough : 
Weeping — the sad beholders we^ — 

Prostrate in all thy beauty, thou ! 

The Master's come ! — Him Martha hastes to meet, 
And falls in tears of anguish at his feet. 
Why was her earnest, pious suit denied ? 
" Hadst thou been here, my brother had not died ; 
Yet even now, such is thy power with God, 
He can return, who hath death's valley trod — 
He shall arise in Resurrection's day." 
" I am," saith Christ, " the Resurrection ! yea, 



121 



He that in me believeth, were he dead, 

Yet shall he live ! Belie vest thou what I've said ? " 

He stands beside the grave ; He, the grave's King, 
Spoiler of hell, can spoil Death's lesser sting. 
Yet Jesus wept : — what rich compassions jflow 
From that deep fountain sorrow breaks up so ! — 
The stone removed — to Him, by whom is won 
Victory alone, in praises speaks the Son ; — 
That God, the Father, making known His power, 
Should raise Sin's numerous slain to life this hour : 
Then, in a voice at which Death, trembling, fled, 
" Lazarus ! come forth ! " he cries. He that was dead 
Came forth, in grave clothes clad, and, buoyant, trod 
The green earth — telling Christ is very God ! 



THAT SAD SECOND CHILDHOOD. 

I have wished that sad, second childliood might have a motlier 
still, to lay its head upon her lap. — FAia. 

Childhood, its little grief 

May, on its mother's breast, 
Lay it, and find relief. 

Where childish cares have rest. 

But what for Age remains .'' 

Age, — with neglect and gloom, — 

Where may it hide its pains 
But in the friendly tomb .? 



122 



FELLOWSHIP. 

On Saturday, 30th July, T landed at Liverpool ; on Sabbatli at- 
tended service in Ur. Raffles' cliurcli ; on Monday visited with 
him several of his menibeis, and in the evening attended a con- 
cert of prayer, where, hy invitation, I addressed tlie meeting. 
Tliere was much feeling — many wept — and I saw, indeed, that 
the language of Canaan is every where tlie same. — JVotesofan 
American Traveller, 

It is the same ! wherever men 

That love the Saviour meet, 
Heart leaps to kindred heart, and then 

The interchange is sweet ; 
Each holds with each communion high, 

The sacred kindlings run, 
And with imperishable tie, 

Their souls are knit in one. 

One language speak the saints below, 

They speak but one iibove, — 
How readily affections flow. 

When that which prompts is love ! 
For Love's the same in every zone 

Where minds, thus taught, adore — 
In our America 'tis known. 

And on the English shore. 

They speak this common language well, 

Who own a different speech ; 
This fellowship has signs that tell 

What this alone doth teach ; 



123 

And he that's skilled in Canaan's tongue, 

Where'er his foot has trod, 
Has found with his, some accent strung 

In unison to God. 

The toiler in his city walls, 

The journeyer on the sea, 
The dweller of imperial halls, 

And he of low degree — 
Man, in his northern world of snow. 

Who herds from man apart, — 
In India's vales, where soft winds blow, 

Or Afric's mighty heart, — 

The foreigner and he at home, 

The stranger by the way, 
Wiioe'er has cnterprize to roam. 

Or who content to stay ; — 
If of this holy brotherhood. 

Each bosom beats the same, — 
And each one in the Son of God 

Has part, that wears his name. 

Where'er thou stray'st or tarryest, know ! 

If cast with Him thy lot, 
Tliou mayst not in life's passage go 

Where kindred mind is not; — 
Where is not found some follower still. 

His witness in each clime — 
Men keeping cov'nant, whom He will 

Keep when sealed up is time. 



124 



THE SILENT STREET. 

In Boston is a street, about a rod 

From her famed Common, by men seldom trod ; 

Never by the mere lounger, or the fair. 

To kill off time, or sport attractions there. 

'Tis shunned by such as play the flutterer's part 

In folly's sunshine ; — by the wise in heart 

Its thought is entertained. Ranged on each side 

Are mansions, not of opulence or pride. 

Of structure simple ; taste was not invoked 

In rearing these. Envy itself, provoked. 

Could find no food in gorgeous trappings here. 

Yet taste is wanting not, though still severe ; 

And you may note, in marble, o'er the door. 

Each owner's name. Of fame's selectest store 

Are some of these. The wise, the good, the great — 

And he* among them, whom the cares of state' 

This moment occupy, — New England's son, — 

Confessedly, who has her suffrage won. 

And wears it too. His domicil, though fit 

For use, before he shall inhabit it, 

May years pass on ! — 

Here, where earth's kindred meet, 
And friends convene, how silent is the street ! 
Each, in due time, takes lodgings, and the gate, 
Closed sullenly upon him, seems to wait, 

* D— 1 VV— b-r-r. 



125 

Patient, yet surely, till 'tis oped again, 
And one more swells the long forgotten train 
Of those who, once within that sombre cell, 
Till time breaks up, in solitude shall dwell. 

Two,i lately, 'twas my lot to see, and they 
Were here to take possession. In array, 
Not like the accustomed bustle that attends, 
Methought, the change of habitation; — friends 
In concourse sad were with them ; — holy rite, 
With prayer and dirge, was ordered ; and the sight 
Of these new tenants was unwonted, such 
As in gay life we see not. There was much 
Of thought intense prevailing, as on them, 
Mother and child, men looked. A very gem 
Of beauty was that infant, save, its cheeks 
Were stilly pale ; and this flower of three weeks — 
Folding itself in its sweet bud, as 'twere 
Shrinking away from our rough winds of care — 
Seemed sleeping — 'twas a kind and quiet sleep. 
Its mother, too ! the voice of friendship said — 
And love confirmed — that grace and nature shed 
Early, on her, attraction. She was one 
Not formed to dazzle in the garish sun. 
But loving shade, yet not inactive shade. 
She grew and bloomed, and now, where such ne'er 
fade, 



t The departed consort and infant son of a beloved divine in 
this city, who were interred with the appropriate and affecting 
services of the Protestant Episcopal Church. 



126 



She lives, with virtuous names not born to die, 
And her bright record is inscribed on high. 

And is she here ? — why weep those ? — why, by light 
Of sickly taper, to tliis house of night 
Comes she ? They pause, 1 notice, and delay 
The jourtieyer's entrance. Grieving friends give way, 
And Ar, who with tliat partner long had dwelt 
In fairer mansion, by her side has knelt 
In anguish sore, and takes tiie last fond look. 
Oh, God ! 'twas the heart's agony that shook 
The servant then. Will he not tarry too ? 
Is no bed decked within, for love so true .-' 
Ah, in death's u)idress is she hither brought ; 
Her conch is damp, her chamber cheerless — nought 
To welcome her and babe. What street is this. 
Whose dwellers tlnis are shorn of home's sweet bliss ? 
And to the world's turmoil and daily strife. 
The business, pleasure, weal and wo of life 
Are all insensible ? A willing search 
Will find it soon. "Tis under St. Taul's Church. 



TIIE DRUNKARD'S DEATH. 

I srooi) besidi' his drying bed. 

His claunny hand was clasped in mine, — 
And if there's hope, look up, I said ; 

He dropt a tear, but made no sign. 



197 

1 askod him of his inisspcnl. y<'iirH, — 

lie had bu(, rcnclicd to manhood's prime, — 

And oil, whiil oriclH, aixl jj^uilt, and foarn 
Trooped where he stood on whores ol' lime ! 

For he to drink liad yiehk'd up 
His inteUect and noble strenjrth ; 

And now tlic demon of the cup, 

Exulting, claimed his prey at length. 

I spako then of tlie broken law. 
Of Onk who had the forfeit paid. 

And that iiis faith mi<>ht strontrly draw 
On Jlim, the Mi^reiful, for aid. 

Renounce thy sins, and loathe thy life. 

So wearily to lolly given ; 
And Ho will calm thy bosom's strife. 

And He will lift thy soul to heaven. 

He cried, " What shall a sinner do ! " 

l\v greatly wept — " What doom is mine ! ' 

His face was cha,ng(>d ; d(!spair, 1 knew, 
Prevailed, and still /ic made no sign. 

I told him that a shoreless sea 

Is grace, for mortals staini'd with sin ; 

To doubt were crime — and salely he, 
Defiled, indeed, might venture in. 



128 

I knelt in prayer — if ever I 

Have tasted prayer's prevailing power, 
'Twas when my supplicating cry 

Appealed for pity in that hour. 

I prayed that he might see how pure 
The law's demand, how vile his guilt j 

Oh, mercy ! must this soul endure 

Its pangs, when blood for souls was spilt — 

This gem that might be ever bright 
Where coronals in beauty shine, 

Be locked in depths, whose only light 
Gleams palely from the wrath divine ! 

Rather may ho, new born, be clad 

In robes by Sovereign Love brought down ; 
And stand where angels worship, glad 

With golden harp and starry crown. 

I asked again, if he could now 

Yield all to Him who claims the whole ; 

And at that cross where men must bow 
Or perish, cast his trembling soul — 

And on this bed of sorrow say, 

" Here, Lord ! to be for ever thine, 

A lost one gives himself away ! " — 
He died, he died, and made no sign ! 



129 

THE QUAKERESS. 

" Every (Quakeress is a lily." 

City of Penn ! thy streets 
Right-angled, marble banks, mint, heaving domes, 
And water-works, and Schuylkill, yielding sweets. 

And pleasant homes, 

And sober denizens, 
I love. — Thy merchants, lawyers, reckoned wise — 
And, more than all, thy beauteous citizens 

Who own bright eyes, 

I love ; — confessedly 
As fair as any famous Broadway boasts, 
Or belles of Washington, though fair they be. 

Or Boston toasts. 

As stately Junes, seem 
Thy queenly females, who, on Chesnut street, 
Display, like flitting mockings of a dream. 

Their pretty feet. 

How charming the array 
They make, when the tired wing of evening droops 
How dazzling, when, in face of envious day, 

They pass in troops ! 
9 



130 

Loveliest of short or tall, 
And most bewitching in her modest dress, 
Is she, who wins all hearts, above them all — 

The Quakeress. 

When almost blinded 
By gorgeous beauty, on the promenade. 
How soothing 'tis to meet — hast thou not minded? — 

A Quaker maid, 

In her becoming dress. 
With bonnet, or of drab, or purest white ;. 
Fragrant as lily of the wilderness, 

As sweet to sight ! 

A company of such 
I've seen in spring time, where thy Arch street runs, 
Gathering to meeting. They resembled much 

The Shining Ones 

Glittering along the way 
In crowds : — This simile is borrowed, I 
Would rather liken them to flowers in May, 

Early and shy. — 

The Quakeress is fair. 
And all adorned in her simplicity; 
Candid as Heaven made her, every where 

Lovely to me. 



131 



And yet her proper throne 
Is home ; — there shines the Quakeress, 
Good sense, good humor, kindness, all her own, 

Are there to bless. 

Oh, were her guileless speech. 
And open artlessness, but copied, then 
Would other towns, like thee, bland lessons teach, 

City of Penn ! 



TO THE MONUMENT. 

Ho ! granite pile on Bunker's sod, 

Why standest thou unfinished thus, — 

A mockery where our fathers trod, 
A Babel, crumbling 'neath the curse ? 

Ho ! thou that men began to build, 
Not counting first the painful cost ; 

In whom the proverb is fulfilled 
Of care and cash by folly lost ; — ■ 

I mind me when this soil for thee 
Was broken by the eager spade, 

That day the son of liberty 

Thy corner stone with shoutings laid. 



132 

He said that on the martyrs' bones 

Thy soaring shaft should proudly stand^ 

And tell forever on its stones 
The fame and story of our land. 

Then eloquence was here — the throng 
Stood breathless on this sacred hill, 

As rose to God the noble song, 
Expressive of a people's will. 

A change has come — no man may bind 
Thy massy blocks on hallowed ground. 

Who thinks with shame, how lofty mind. 
In firmer grasp, hath Slavery bound ! 

This scorpion thought keeps back the gold 
Which should, to plant thy top stone, pay. 

That human blood and bones are sold ; 

And shouldst thou prate of freedom .'* Nat 

A hissing only wouldst thou be, 
A by-word of our country's shame; 

And every syllabic on thee 

Engraved, would falsehood still proclaim. 

Not thus defy the men of might 
Who on this hill-top glory won ; 

Not thus affront the pilgrim's sight 
Upon this more than Marathon. 



133 

Yet — stand thou thus ! a tell-tale, not 
Of heroes slunrib'ring at thy base — 

But of the fact that one dear spot 
Hypocrisy shall not disgrace. 



SUNDAY. 

Tile RuTiflriy.s of man's lift;, 
Threaded together on Time's slrinc, 

Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
Of the eternal, glorious King. — 7Vtc Church. 

SwKET Sabbath ! gift of Heaven, which selfish man 
Would never on himself have thus bestowed ; — 
A green spot art thou in the dreary road 

Of life, sojourning ; every seventh day found. 

Where we, thought gathered, earth withdrawn, rnay 
scan 

The overwhelming glories scattered round 
The universe of God. Or, called by bells. 
Drink, in his temple, where it freely wells. 

Water of Life ; such as the woman drew 

Never by old Samaria, but which knew 

The heavenly Teacher. Me, stript of my pride. 

Show, on this day, as here I waiting lie, 

Panting with thirst, on this parched, waste, way side, 

The path, dear Lord ! to Sabbath streams on high. 



134 



THE WIDOW. 

Do not the tears run clown the widow's cheek ? and is not her 
cry against him that causetii the fatherless to fall ? — The Son of 
Sirach. 

Man ! who pitiost follow wo, 

Sighest when the stricken sigh, — 

In whom sweet Compassion's glow 
Stirs the soul and dims the eye, — 

Look upon the Widow's sadness ; 

Bid her crushed heart leap for gladness. 

Woman ! type of Mercy, thou, 

AVho thyself all feeling art, 
Wearing pity on thy brow. 

And its impulse in thy heart. 
Hearken to the Widow's groan, 
Weep for her that weeps alone. 

Youth ! the first in deeds of daring. 

Leaving timid age behind, — 
Following Fortune, yet uncaring 

If she slights thee, or is kind, — 
Stop ! nor proudly scorn her lot 
Which thou understandest not. 



135 

Maiden ! in thy laughing hour, 
Dreaming not of future ill, — 

Yet in whom, with certain power, 
Destiny shall work its will, — 

By thy hopes, that soon must die, 

Hear the Widow's troubled cry. 

Triou ! who sorrowedst o'er the bier, 
Where a widow's son was laid. 

At the gate of Nain, — hear ! 
Look, and lend thy gracious aid. 

God ! the counsel came from Thee, 

" Let thy Widows trust in Me." 



THE INCONSISTENT. 

Oh, parent, who thy watch art keeping, 
So pleasing, painful, o'er thy boy, — 

Whose vigilance is all unsleeping 

That he may prove, indeed, thy joy — 

Consider ! while Iktj care thou deemest 
Enough, at times, thy hope to dim, 

A cloud, of which thou little drcamest. 
Comes up between his bliss and him. 



136 

While he imbibes instruction needed, 
And Precept seems to gnide tlie way, 

Some act of tliine, some word, vinlieeded. 
In sad Example, leads astray ; 

In all the influence which in beauty 
Should cluster round the social hearth. 

In every j)leasure, toil and duty 

Of hom(>, the dearest s])ot ou eatlh. 

With one hand to the living fountain 
Pointing, where he may enter in ; 

And with the other, like a mountain, 
riling along iiis path thy sin ! 

On Inconsistency that's blazing 

Thus falsely, where should be true light. 
Thy iielpless, ductile oirsi)ring gazing — 

How con he lind the way that's right ? 

Oh, cruel ! that iho bosom swelling 
With ardor, ho])e, and promise fair. 

Should, by thy folly, be the dwelling 
Of guilty pain and keen despair. 

Had he not here — a thoughtless stranger. 
Unskilled life's thousand snares to shun — 

Enough of soul-besetting danger, 

That thou shouldst see thy child undone ? 



137 

Whoso fancy, think'st thou, o'er may enter 

Its depths, or analyze the cup 
Of which the parent, tliat diirBt venture 

11 is children's safety, sliall drink up ! 

How many thus, like stars, for ever 
Have set, in baleful night to dwell, 

In spite of Wisdom's strong endeavor, 
By faithless parents, who may tell ? 



THE GAMBLERS — A Fact. 

'TwAS in the old Cathedral, at midnioht ; 
Before the altar burned unwonted liglit. 
Which deepened darkness on the fretted w;ill, 
Where hung a])propriate shadows, like a pall. 
Within the chancel sat men, void of shame, 
At the Communion Table, deep in game. 
Three mocking wretches impiously were 
Joined in the sacrilege. A fourth was there ! 
That fourth, a ghastly corpse, which had that day 
In the damp vault been laid with kindred clay, 
Now dragged by these blasphemers from its bed 
To help at cards. Uncoflined, tlie griin dead 
Sat thus in chilling silence, whik; tli<;ir noise 
Went on; nor heeded their infernal joys. 



138 



SPEECH OF THE EMPEROR NICHO- 
LAS, OF RUSSIA, 

TO THE MUNICIPAL BODY OF WARSAW, WHILE ON A VISIT TO 
THAT CITY.* 

Gentlemen ! 
That you've wished to address us we very well know. 
Yet what you would utter being merely so, 50, 
To save you moreover from telling a lie. 
We will that your speech you put quietly by. 
Yes, Gentlemen ! though we repeat it with pain, 
'Tis to spare you duplicity foolish and vain. 
We know that your sentiments, faithless to us, 
Unlike your pretences, than falsehood are worse. 
For similar mockery with you was the mode. 
When your vile Revolution was ripe to explode. 
And now, that we think on't, to us it appears 
You are the same flatterers, who, five and eight years 
Ago, tickled us with your loyalty, strong. 
When your honey-mouthed talk was as fulsome as long. 
The same, who a very few days or weeks after. 
Broke every engagement and made us your laughter. 
Ever since we have lent you our gracious protection. 
You've spurned at our kindness and called it subjec- 
tion ; 
E'en the grcvat Alexander, with cognomen " Good," 
Who cared for you more than an emperor should, 

* Fide the German newspaiiers of 1836. 



139 



Who heaped on you benefits, base as you are, 
Beyond his own subjects, who made you his care, — 
Yea, tliough of sedition ye stirred up tlie coals, 
Who would fain have exalted you, highest of Poles, — 
The good Alexander — with sorrow we say it — 
You treated most basely ; th(» knout ought to pay it. 
Although your position was noble enough, 
Yet with it you've wickedly been in a huff; 
We talk to you plainly, and deem we are right, 
On these, our relations, to scatter some light ; 
And on what to depend, that you really may know. 
In kindness, we, Nicholas, counsel you so ; 
And ask honest action, not language of art : 
Repentance, the pri(!sts say, should come from the 

heart. 
We speak without anger, you see that we are 
As calm and as cool as becomes a great Czar ; 
No rancor, no malice, ye treacherous elves ! 
And good we will do you, in spite of yourselves. 
The Marshal, — you see him, — though you may not 

think it. 
Fulfils our intention, and that you shan't blink it, 
lie watches you closely, your w(!lfare in view. 
And Warsaw holds none more observant and true. 
[The members of the DrpnUitlon here bow to the Mar- 

.sha.L] 
Well, Gentlemen ! well ! — we are glad, any liow. 
That to him, worthy man, you obsequiously bow ; 
But what signify, we would ask, these salutes, 
Or words dipt in oil, if in deeds you are brutes ! 



140 



The first of all duties you owe, it is clear, 

Is fealty to us, who am Autocrat here ; 

To serve us sincerely, nor deem it too hard, 

That Liberty's dream you forever discard. 

The alternative here, yon must instantly choose — 

Our government, mild though it be, to refuse, 

And seek for lost Poland her ancient renown, — 

Or quietly toil for the good of our crown. 

Yet, mark us ! if 3'^ou, now on jeopardy's brink, 

Of distinct nationality dare but to think. 

You will utterly fail in the scheme you intend. 

And ruin draw down on yourselves in the end. 

^Fc have reared up this citadel — we ! who declare 

If a traitorous Pole of his head wags a hair, 

Its cannon in thunders against ye shall roar. 

And Warsaw shall fall, — to be Warsaw no more ! 

Indeed, it is painful to talk to you thus : 

To a Sovereign 'tis always so — yet if a fuss 

You make about Liberty, we, for your good, 

Must talk and must act as an Autocrat should ; 

'Tis for you to deserve it, that over the past. 

The veil of oblivion for ever is cast ; 

By humble acknowledgment, only, you'll gain it. 

By future obedience, only, obtain it. 

We know that abroad, from the pestilent West, 

Come the writings, like frogs, tliat our empire infest ; 

And men who arc drunken with liberty, send 

Those missives which evil can only portend. 

With such a frontier, e'en a Russian police 

Can ne'er of this evil prevent the increase 3 



141 



And yet its effects you may easily crush 

And the whisperings of treason may readily hush, 

If you train up your children to bow at our nod, 

And worsiiip their Sovereign before any God. 

You see, while those writings shake Europe, in fact, 

Our Russia ! immovable, strong and intact ! 

Believe us, though some may have deemed it a curse, 

'Tis a blessing indeed, to be really a Russ ; 

And of governments wielded by absolute powers, 

What a privilege, Poles ! to be subject to ours. 



VIRGINIA A. D****. 

Hast thou never seen. 

When the orb of day 

Lightens with his sheen 

Dark Niagara, 

How his glories act 

On the foam, and show. 

O'er the cataract, 

Heaven's beauteous bow .'* 
She, who lately plumed for flight, seeking rest above, 
Saw thus over Jordan's tide, arched, the bow of love. 

Hath, at eve, thine eye 
Watched the little billow 
Rise and gleam and die. 
On Atlantic's pillow — 



142 



When it seemed to thee 

Sighing into rest, 

Molting peacefully 

Into ocean's breast ? 
She, as kindly in repose, sighed away her breath, 
Peacefully and gently thus, blended into death. 

Saw'st thou, when, in light. 

Sabbath glories rose ? 

She, a Sabbath, bright. 

Saw, yet not like those. 

Longed she then to go. 

Rest above, to spend ? 

Yes ! begun below. 

Rest that ne'er shall end. 
Voices heard she, loved ones saw, sweetly from the sky 
Beckoning to their holy home, wooing her to die. 

In the troublous hour. 

In life's weary doom. 

When disease hath power, 

When appears the tomb — 

Where's the sovereign arm, 

Strong and swift to save ? 

Wliat can chase alarm. 

What adorn the grave ? 
She could answer. He was there, swift, the sufferer 

knew. 
He that through the grave had passed, strong to bear 
her throuoh. 



143 



When Niagara 

Lifts his bow no more, 

When have fled away 

Ocean and the shore, — 

She shall live again, 

Where the mortal sigh 

Heaves not, and where pain, 

Yea, and Death shall die. 
5'Ac, a child, a seraph noio^ leans on Jesus' breast. 
Oh, for wings ! that we might be, sweet one ! thus at 
rest. 



COMMON ORIGIN OF RELIGION. 

" Among the Greeks, during tlieir nocturnal mysteries, youth- 
ful viririns, having baskets full of Howers, with serpents in them, 
ran about all night, calling on the name of our first mother, ' Eva! 
Eva!'"' 

For as I passed by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar 
with tliis inscription, To the Unknown God. Whom, therefore, 
ye ignorautly worship, him declare I unto you. — Paul on Mars 
Hill. 

By Hebrew wand'rers taught to know, — 

Instructed they of Heaven, — 
The origin of human wo. 

The curse so early given, — 
The Greek — such single glimmering shown — 

Wove truth with fabling rite : 
A sunbeam, flashing from the throne 

Upon his pagan night. 



144 

Yet not to his mythology 

Was sacred lore confined — 
The print of true Religion, we 

On other altars find. 
Wherever zeal had temples built, 

To crown the idol hill, 
Where flowers were laid, or blood was spilt. 

Were seen her tokens still. 

The Druid in his stony cave. 

The Egyptian in his hall. 
He to his Fetish god a slave, 

And he in Boodha's thrall — 
Each brought the firstling of his store ; 

Each, prest by sense of sin. 
Did, darkly, Deity adore. 

For dimmed was light within. 

And where night wrapped the heathen shrines. 

His fealty to " The Unknown " 
The pagan wrote in living lines 

Upon his altar stone ; 
To God, for whom misguided men 

Through ages vainly felt. 
To God, unseen, yet worshipped, when 

In ignorance they knelt. 

Oh, that which points above the stars 

Wherever man has trod — 
To Him who shuts night, and unbars 

The morn, the very God, — 



145 

And spells in beams above the sun 

The name of Deity — 
Is spirit, which can never shun 

Its immortality. 

If Christendom, made rich indeed 

With knowledge of the Cross, 
To use it wisely gives not heed, 

How measureless her loss ! 
If stripes are his, who never saw 

Unfolded Mercy's plan. 
How sorely visiteth the law 

Enlightened^ guilty man ! 



THE TEMPLE. 

He sought Moriah's walls. 

That heaved to heaven their pride ; 
The Temple, like whose glorious halls, 

The world had nought beside. 

He entered — 'twas his own ! 

Of nations called the house of prayer; 
But money changers filled his throne, 

And traffic's foot was there. 
10 



146 

Woko, at his watchful nod, 

Thundors for the oftence ? 
No — with a word the Son of God 

Cast the delilors thence : 

The merchant from his courts, 

Tlie doves, the cliangers, and their gold ; 
And silenced the confused reports 

Of men, tluit bought and sold. 

Thus near the Saviour drew 

This temjile of the Holy Gliost, 

Mij heart, that sheltered, still untrue. 
Folly's tumultuous host. 

Tlie Master's once it was, 

But others had possession found ; 

And where He should have given laws, 
His enemy was crowned. 

With a reproving frown, 

To see his altar dimmed by sin, — 
The gates of beauty broken down. 

The world come trooping in, — 

He, with a scourge of cords, 

Drove every idol lience. 
'Twas sharp — 3-et kind ; my gracious Lord's 

This temple has been since. 



147 

And dearer is it deemed 

Than altara where the Hebrew knelt ; 
Since Mercy liatli upon it beamed, 

And God witliin it dwelt. 



I AM FOR PEACE. 

Man's iiiliiimariity to man, 

Makes counlicss tliou.sands mourn. — Kohcrt Burns. 

What's in tlie warlike wavinrr plume, 
And in the gorgeous standard's fold 
That beckon on to envied doom 
Or glorious victory, the bold ; 
What's in the brazen trumpet's bray 
And in the spirit stirring fife 
And thundering drum, that call away 
The generous to the deadly strife ? 

What magic's in old Cojsar's name. 
Or his who died at Babylon — 
Or his, the chief of modern fame, 
Who thrones, like counters, lost and won - 
Yea, what's in all the high renown 
That e'er contending legions gained ; 
The greenest wreath, the proudest crown, 
That ever poet knew or feigned. 



148 

(^oinpartHl witli all the certain guilt 
On murder, stain jxul by rio;lit<M)us law, 
I'lu? (U)mil,lcHS tears, tli(> rivers spilt 
Of blood, tlu" rrinirs and wors of war? 
C()nipan>(l with lliat ini|)(>tu()us tide 
Of sill, wiru;h Hows in drcadlul wrath — 
The liatn^l, Hcorn and poisonous pride 
Tliat surely follow battle's path ? 

Oh, why should nations, lifled up 
By Christian privilege, pn^paro 
For aistor rtMilins tlie hitter enp, 
Wiiosi' dre<;H are sorrow and despair ! 
At empty lloiu)r's laruai wak(> 
i'\)r(M> that for IlioJit, eonld lu^vi^' fail, — - 
For faii(.i(>d insult, veno(>anco take. 
And (liicl. on a lari>t>r scale ! 

Just Ood ! this is not in tliy plan ; 
The monstrous dogma's iu)t from Thoo, 
That what is wrong from num to man, 
In gov(n*nnients may vonial be. 
Thou over dost transgression hate, 
In higluvst, as in humblest phice ; 
Nor will its p(>iuilty abalo 
From parliament or populace. 

I loathe it all ! and wIumi 1 see 
(lay, gladsome warriors trooping by. 
With glancing steel, and bravery 
Of trump and drum, I can but sigh. 



140 

Tlial men, likf cliildrcii, ever Hccin 
Still plca«cd and flatt<!ro(J with a Htraw, 
And for FanKi'H splendid, empty dream, 
Will court the crinieo and curse of war ! 



T H E S ]•: C () N D ARROW. 

I HAW thee faint, tin; hour wiien came 
The arrow, with unerrin^r aiiri. 
To pierce thy first-horn ; yet tliy fjlod 
.1 knew could henl, thon<rh sharp the rod. 
And now, wlien sc.irc^ely fimrteen djiys 
Ifavo pasH(!d, the second arrow slays 
7'h(f hist survivor, find tlie torrd) 
Again Jias suiiliii;ht on its {rjoorn, 
To show wliere with the newly dead 
Another child may hiy its head. 

Thrice has such messajire at my door, 
In hy-<rone days, heen told. Ay, more 
Than this — four precious ones, that hlest 
My heart and home, arc now at rcwt. 
I know what 'tis loiifr ni<rhtH to watch 
The hel[)less sufferc^r, and to notch 
Each hour on Sorrow's tiihlet. Yes, 
To take the last ])ure hr(!ath, and kiss 
Away death's damp from lip and hrow. 
To ni(M!t iill this, iind meekly how. 
All this, and own Mis "will he done," 
Is victory — yet it may he won. 



150 

Weep freely — nature asks the tear — 
Weep, as keen memory brings so near 
The thousand nameless, witching charms 
Of those who lately filled your arms. 
Weep, as flit by thee hopes that played 
On life's horizon, when, arrayed 
In rainbow tints, thou sawest the bow 
Of promise for thy loved ones glow. 
Yet weep resignedly ; eacli grace 
Is clustered in a glorious place. 
Yea, weep with joy ! those cherubs shine 
Where all is real, all divine ! 

For thee and me, we'll softly go 
The remnant of life's weal or wo, 
Content, its tears and trials past. 
If we may join our babes at last. 



THE BIBLE FORBIDDEN. 

The Bible, free as winds of heaven. 
This age to all the world has given. 
To all the Word of Life ? Yes ! save 
The hordes that wear the name of Slave, 
And wear his bonds, and feel the rod ; 
For this, wilt thou not judge, oh, God ! 
Will not thy vengeance put to shame 
The followers of the equal cross. 
Who glory in the Christian's name, 
Yet count a hrother''s soul as dross ? 



151 



APPEAL 

FROM BIBLE COUNTRIES TO THE AMERICAN SUNDAT SCHOOL 
UNION. 

Thirty thousand dollars might be employed at this moment, in 
translating and putting into circulation an assortment of the un- 
exceptionable, evangelical and attractive books of the American 
Sunday School Union, among thousands of readers who now in- 
habit the very land which was once traversed by prophets, apos- 
tles and martyrs, — Rev. Mr. Brewer, of the Smyrna Mission. 

A VOICE to thee ! — to thee, whose noble aim 

It is to nurture Childhood for the skies ; — 

A voice from the Levant ! it strongly cries 

For instant help; — the lands that lie in shame 

Appeal to thee in the Redeemer's name. 

Favored of Institutions ! whose blest root 

Strikes deep, — whose boughs are redolent of fruit, — 

Thou, like to the small mustard seed, from small 

Beginnings sprang : — silent, yet surely grew 

Thy stem in beauty ; — now, thou'rt strong and tall, 

In bloom luxuriant, and fruitful too. 

On the Atlantic slope thou hast caused schools 

To rise by thousands; — Alleghany sees 

Thy influence far beyond him. Knowledge rules 

Where solitude once triumphed; — humble knees 

Are bowed on flowery prairies, and the voice 

Of young hosannas makes the West rejoice. 



152 



To the fair sunny South thy heralds go. — 

The sweetly winning books that simply speak, 

In useful narrative, of weal and wo, 

Companions of the young throu2:hout the week — 

Thou scatterest ; — the harvest who can know ! 

Nor to these shores contined, thy light hath felt 

Dark Hindostan. Responsive to her calls. 

Thy page hath visited the Indian halls. 

Hearts thou hast moved that long to idols knelt ; 

Thou art already to the Brahmin known ; 

Thou hast already reached the Rajah's throne. 

Blest labors ! blest reward ! To thee is given 

To see, most nobly prospering in thy hands, 

God's work, — small faith thus shaming. Yet hath 

Heaven 
For thee more fields, and larger ; there are other lands ! 
Oh, look at length, upon the prophets' soil. 
Where martyrs languished, and apostles trod, — 
And with these pages, fruit of prayer and toil. 
Bless climes where prayed, and toiled, and died the 

Son of God ! 



LINES AT LOWELL. 

I PRAISE not your sweet red and white. 

Or hair that floats in graceful curls. 
Or eyes that flash out brilliant light, 
Ye Lowell girls I 



153 

I praise the charm that ye possess — 

Rcsistk^ss charm of woman's face — 
The modesty in whose impress 

Is every grace ; — 

The lofty wish that bids yc leave 

A mother's care and childhood's soil, 
Your fortunes wisely to achieve 

By virtuous toil ; — 

The independent mind that lifts 

Ye far above life's varying whirls — 
For these I praise you, these best gifts, 

Ye Lowell girls ! 1837. 



THE PRESSURE — 1837. 

Let those who are snfFiiring by the present commercial em- 
barrassments, take heed that they do not resort to unsanctified 
sources of consohition. 

Oh, seek not comfort from the Wine, 

In this thy bitter grief; 
The mantling juices of the vine 

Can yield thee no relief. 
Nor seek, in thy extreme distress, 

Oblivion from the bowl ; 
Thou shalt not there remember less 

Thy agony of soul. 



151 

Oh, seek not, in tliis troublous hour, 

The Goiiililrr's oiirs(>(l dcii ; 
For once within his bah^l'ul j)owt>r, 

And farewell virtue then ! 
Nor to tlie unholy, feverish heat. 

That gathers there, incline. 
If thou Avonldst not the wild hot beat 

Of a uiiuUlciuMl pulse W(>re thiiu'. 

Oh, look not in gay I'lcinii/rr's lair 

In such a time as tiiis ; 
7Mie bla/(>, the beanty, sono-, are there, 

IJnt not consolino- bliss. 
Nor in the ball-room's witching wiles, 

Nor plaee of glee have part ; 
For there thine artificial smiles 

Would veil a broken heart. 

Thy ho{)es are dark — across the land 

God hath his shadow thrown — 
Yet who'll rebuke the righteous hand 

That touclu's but its own .'' 
From Ilim come judgments on our path, 

From Ilim (his gri(>vous blow *, 
Yet rains not iVom bis stones of wrath 

Man's itrlf'-iiijlicird wo. 

Submit ! — there's sweetness in the thought 

That Jle in love doth chide ; 
For avarice He this ill hath wrought, 

Perhaps for ibolish i)rido. 



155 

Yd this, and more that Heaven can bring, 

'Twerc easier to bear. 
Than that which from remorse doth spring' 

Tiuf soul's unmixed despair ! 



HYMN FOR THE TIMES. 

Tijv blessing, gracious Providence, 

If thou to man reveal, — 
The manufacturer ])li('s his art. 

And commerce speeds the wheel. 
On skill to plan, and toil to frame, 

If tiiou thy smile bestow. 
The vein is reached, and streams of gold 

Run in perpetual How. 

How rise the airy Klruc;tnres, then ! 

VVJiat wings doth l)ustle wear ! 
We strive as if this world alone 

Were worth a world of care. 
To heaven-(^\alted eiit('ri)riso 

Our fealty we give, — 
For wealth, and wliat it brings, life seems 

Worthy alone to live. 

Rnt when thy frown appears, the tide 

Rolls back with angry power ; 
And then, oh ! God, what dreams of pride. 

Years built, die in an hour ! 



156 

How strangely vanish yellow heaps, 

Which painful toil has raised ! 
How frightful is the labyrinth, then, 

Where wisdom's self is mazed ! 

If in the mighty gulf is whelmed 

One who lias bowed to pelf, 
Or one whose narrow purposes 

Have centered in himself. 
By this sharp trial show to him — 

Perhaps a lesson new — 
That he alone lives up to Man, 

Who lives for others too. 

And if Thy finger him has touched, 

And fairest prospects riven, — 
Who, as Thine almoner, dispensed 

Thy gifts, as dews of heaven, — 
His noble heart, which was not wed 

To these, do Thou refine ; 
And by this kind rebuking make 

Yet more Thy servant thine. 

Oh ! it is merciful that thus 

Thy chastening hand is felt. 
When we, departing from Thy shrine, 

Have to our idols knelt. 
Then let this call, so loud, so stern. 

Which our whole nation hears — 
Now sweetly win us to return, 

In penitence and tears ! 1837. 



157 



MOUNT AUBURN. 

I TROD the walks and velvet green 
That carpets Auburn's place of tombs, 
And vainly sought — they were not seen — 
For burial damps and gathered glooms. 
But in their stead the voice of bird 
And insects' hum and south wind's breath, 
And babbling brook my spirit stirred 
To thoughts that tarry not with death. 

'Tis surely sweet to linger thus 
In hidden dell and fairy grove. 
That seem unconscious of the curse, 
That show Earth still has much to love. 
Yet as I gaze on chiselled stone 
And gorgeous marble, rich and rare. 
Admiring Art, I feel alone, — 
I deem not that the Dead are there. 

It seems not the remembered lost 
Are shut up in these lovely hills ; 
That he, on life once rudely tost, 
Is calmly resting by these rills. 
From scenes enchanting as are these, 
Thought winged with pleasure gaily springs, 
Yet wrapt in what Time has to please. 
It mounts not to eternal things. 



158 

I love the taste and pious skill 
Which decorate this place of rest, 
So delicate, so charming — still 
I love my native churchyard best. 
For as I watch its simple flowers 
That bloom without the gardener's care. 
On graves that lie to sun and showers, 
I feel, I feel the Dead are there. 



CONFESSION. 

The good confess to God ; — they ever feel 
Sin's malady a God alone can heal ; 
And, weary of its pains, they find the breast, 
Emptied by true confession, has true rest. 
The sinner, haughty, and confirmed in pride 
And stubbornness, would fain transgression hide. 
He ne'er to Heaven confesses, nor forsakes 
His crimes ; but to indifference betakes 
Himself, and says — " God sees not, nor awakes 
Judgment, long threatened." 

Yet on that dread day. 
When shuddering systems, wrecked, will pass away. 
When thrones are set — high o'er the startled crowd 
Will swell in lamentation, deep and loud. 
The first, long, sad confession of the sentenced proud. 



159 



FORETASTES. 

Some joy it has been mine to know, 

When in the closet bending low, 

I've converse held with heaven in prayer. 

And foretastes had of glory there. 

If here such glimpse is given to me. 

What must the full fruition be ! 

I've tasted happiness, when bowed 
In worship, with the pious crowd. 
In temple walls, whose full-voiced choir 
Pealed David's notes to David's lyre. 
And felt, if music thus to love 
Woke here, what is its power above ! 

I've touched those emblems with the saints. 
Whose use restores the soul that faints. 
And gathered, at the Saviour's board. 
Bliss, Earth can neither give nor hoard, — 
And thought, if cheers thus mingled wine. 
What is that crushed, that Living Vine ! 

I've seen the Christian die, yet ere 

The spirit sought its native sphere, 

I marked, with awe, his kindling eye. 

And eager flush, and heard the sigh 

Of holy rapture, not of pain. 

And thought, what conflict ! yet what gain 



160 

For his pale clicck, I saw, was fanned 
With breezes from the better land ; 
Libations of the next world's bliss 
He drank, before he passed from this ; 
Of Love his life had known the power ; 
Its foretastes sunned the last dark hour. 

Oh, there is round us something thrown 
Of other worlds ! — In crowds, alone, 
By day, by nio-ht, we whispers liear, 
From errand angi'ls, always near ; 
Reminding pilgrims of their home, 
Tellinsr us of the rest to come. 



IDOLATRY. 

FvK an ancient Idol, whicli 

Lately filled its narrow niche, 

In a temple, in a clime 

Where, for long forgotten time. 

Still had reigned Idolatry. 

Where it proudly claimed the knee 

Of the bondman and the free. 

For it, reeked a million slaughters, 

To it, knelt the Orient's daughters. 

Mothers, to obtain its grace. 

To it prest their babe's sweet face. 



161 

Fathers, to avert its evil, 

Gave their first born to tlie devil. 

Sooth, 1 sadly look upon it, 

Thinking of the waves of blood 

And the (triK-ltics that won it 

Nanu; ol" JIcU's inl'ernal god. 

This one Idol whieh I own — 

" Ha ! but oNK ! — hast thou no other ? " 

" No." " Yet stay ! thy bosom's throne 

Haply holds, e'en now, its brother. 

Ay, a legion ! yet more li.iteful 

Than tin; idols iii.ulc of stone. 

Feared i^iiid wor.shij)pc{l, though unknown. 

Viler, tdo, their ineense given, 

Than tlu; sac.rific-c, ungrateful. 

Which froiu pagans smells to Heaven ! " 



T II E 1' A T T 1 1 I' U r. ]' R I E N D 

IM-UHTllAl IN<; A rKTUUE. 

IIaity sister ! hapj)y brother ! 
All the world unto (uich other 
Seem they at their simple meal; 
What e.ui purer peace reveal .-' 
He has boyhood's earnestn(!8S, 
She has girlish artlessness ; — 
11 



162 

And to share their supper, see, 
Dick is boiTo-ing wistfully. 
Look dcniuro, entroatinor eye. 

Lifted i)aw, as plainly tell 
As a dog can utter, " I 

Am a friend that serves you well. 
Am I not, the lonesome night, 

Wakeful for you when you sleep ? 
If the rol)b(>r comes, a bite 

Bids him safer distance keep. 
And 1 toil liu^ winter's day. 
And lt)r y<'u, the summer. Pray 
Who so patient at your si»le 
When yon walk and when you ride.'' 
Who your dinner takes at noon 

To the school-house in the lane, — 
Touching neither cloth or spoon, — 

And the basket back again. 
Emptied, to your mother brings .'' 
In a thousand little things. 
In a thousand little ways. 
For a word or look of praise, 
Dick is daily showing you 

Dogs are faithful, and he begs, 

Humbly on his hinder legs. 
For a taste of su])per too." 

Happy sister ! hnppy brother ! 

Friendship is a word of art 
Spelt not by ye — each for other 

Knows it truly in the heart. 



163 

Tli.if. it y'u'Uls a <r(>ncrous pleasure, 
Selfish man can ne'er dispute, 

When li(> sees the priceless treasure 
Shared with the deserving brute, 



THE GOOD, 

Ilia lif(? Iintli flowed, 

A y;u Ttut Hlrcjjiiii, 
In whoso calm (loi>tli tlie bciiutifiil and piiro 
Aloru! arc luirrorcd ; which, tliou{;lii shapes of ill 
May hover round its surface, glides in light, 
And takes no shadow from them. — Ion. 

Sucri is the Good ! — Go, thou, survey the Good, 

Not in his holiday of hopes and joys, 

JJut wh(>n life's task is done. Look at that life ! 

Yea, scrutinize its doings. Lo, the long 

And chequered scroll, though blotted here and tliere 

With huuKui frailty, sliows no dastard deed 

Of meanness, cruelty, dishonoring wrong, 

Or aught, that in the sight of angels, men, 

Or God, shall make him hang his head in shame. 

True, he hath wandered — who hath not? — yet he 

Back, like a child, rep(Miting, hath rettirned, 

And sought and found forgiveness. 01», liow warm 

Were love's strong gushings to his Father, then. 



164 

And gratitude, and sorrow for his fault, 
While, like a swelling river, joy and grief 
Rose in his bosom, and found sweet relief 
In sacred tears ! 

Evenly hath he trod 
Life's devious way ; the friend of honest worth, 
Though clad in poverty. His step I've seen 
Directed often to the low abode 
Of such ; 'twas his with kindly hand to dry 
The trickling sorrows of the fatherless : 
And he would cause the widow's heart aloud 
To sing for joy. The servant of his God, — 
Not vaunting of his deeds, but trusting Him 
Who once trod Calvary, — he journeyed on 
The time appointed, and at last laid down, 
Serenely, at his Master's call, and died. 



THE BURIAL OF MOSES. 

And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against 
Beth-peor. — Deut. xxxiv. 6. 

To gorgeous burial goes the monarch, 
With scarf, and mute, and nodding plume, — 
The glitter, which flashed o'er his cradle, 
Settles around his costly tomb. 



165 

To burial, with a grievous mourning, 
Tlio Hiiirrc.d and launjllcd hero goes ; 
And rnuflicd drum and solemn trumpet 
Ring out a stricken nation's woes. 

And brows of wisdom are uncovered, 
And hoary heads in grief are bent, 
When he to senseless clay is gathered, 
Whose spirit searched the firmament ; 

And trod the fields, thick sown with planets, 
And traced out Nature's secret laws ; 
And followed, in their mighty courses. 
Suns, stars, and worlds, to their First Cause. 

With simple rite, the village maiden, — 
Cut down, how like a flower at eve ! — 
In all her loveliness is buried, 
And rifled hearts are left to grieve. 

To earth the little casket's given. 
That lately held a precious gem ; 
Oh, mother ! wast thou wholly willing 
To yield it for God's diadem ? 

There's hollow wo, there's genuine feeling. 
When dust is given back to dust ; 
Some are resigned by sweet Religion ; 
Some acquiesce, because they must. 



166 

Yet of the burials Time has witnessed, 
None in simplicity may vie, 
None in tlioir state, with that of Moses, 
Who went up Nobo's top to die. 

What hifty obsequies wore rench^red 
That liour when Darkness liekl the pall ! 
What pomp, where stood, in clouds pavilioned. 
The silent, present, Lord of All ! 

How blest the man whose dust Jehovah, 
Hid in a o^rave that's yet uutrod ! 
Thrice blessed he, that soul most happy, 
Whose life is hid with Christ in God ! 



THE HAPPY MAN. 

Tliis man i.s freed fiDin servile bands 

Of Jiope to rise, or fear to fall ; 
Lord of Iiiinseif, thougii not of lands j 

And having luithing, yet liatli all. 

Sir Henry JVotton, 1590. 

Thk happy man is he, whose youth 
Is not in wasting pleasures spent ; 
In manluuxl strono-, whose word of truth 
Still answers to its strict intent. 



167 

Of humble wish, whose wish is met 
By kind response from mercy's dower ; 
Wliom disappointmonts ne'er can frcit, 
And whom to Jiarm, no ill hatli power. 

Who hath actpiaintance ; yet a friend, 
In tlu^ tru(,' meauinir of its name ; — 
On(! who in absence will defend, 
And present, if there's need be, blame. 

Yet hath — all other charm above — 
That rose of sweet domestic bliss, 
Which, with sincere and modest love, 
Is, fresh and fragrant, bound with his. — 

Which sheds about his peaceful hearth 
Perfumes of Eden. Light and life 
Of heaven do surely visit earth. 
Where'er is known the virtuous wife. — 

Who, hand in hand with him, from bloom 
Of youth, to age, will travel on ; — 
One home, one heart, one hoj)e, one tomb, 
Till — life's race o'er — the goal is won. 

Yea, daughters, who, as olive plants, 
Shall duly round his table be ; 
And sons, to meet the en'my's taunts, 
Mis pride and crown continually. 



168 

Whose eye beyond the grave is fixed 
On the bright path by angels trod ; 
Who goes to drink the chalice, mixed, 
Of wondrous joy, prepared by God. 



THE BRAHMIN SUICIDE. 

On the way, seeing a number of natives passing them hastily, 
and inquiring the cause, they were told that a Brahmin had 
drowned himself under the pressure of pain ; upon which they 
took occasion to point out the wretched coudition of their guides, 
and exhorted them to seek the grace and peace of God in their 
hearts, which would enable them patiently to endure calamities. 
►Some of them insinuated that God had predestinated the Brahmin 
to his miserable end ; but the missionaries testified that God was 
not the author of evil, but was a lover of our temporal and eternal 
happiness. — Memoirs of Rev. C. F. Swarti. 

Beautiful are the feet that stand, 
Of heralds on the heathen land ! 
Beautiful on the distant mountains, 
And by cool and gushing fountains ; 
Beautiful by the river's side, 
Where heaves the idol dome in pride, 
Where is stretched the Suicide ! 
Beautiful is Humility, 
Speaking 'neath the banyan tree, 
Warning the aged devotee ; 



169 

Telling the young of a Shepherd nigh, 
Whose arms are safe, whose fold is high ; 
Telling the poor of pearls and gems 
Seen not in Earth's diadems ; 
Telling adorers of the river. 
Many floods can ne'er deliver, 
Gunga cannot save the soul, 
Jordan only maketh whole. 
Telling to him who painfully goes 
On pilgrimage, that fleshly woes 
Ne'er atone for precept broke — 
Ne'er release from Error's yoke. 
Oh, beyond all worldly treasure. 
Oh, beyond all Avorldly pleasure, 
Is an errand such as this ! 
Is the Missionary's bliss ! 
Heaven's highest seat is found 
For him who toils on heathen ground ! 
And who is he on the Indian sands, 
That like a heavenly teacher stands .'' 
Near him towers the Moslem's mosque, 
And Paganism's proud kiosk. 
O'er him blooms the scented lime, 
And the noble trees of the eastern clime, 
Sheltering from the noon-day glare — 
And see ! what gathered crowds are there. 
The listening traveller reins his steed, 
The water-bearer giveth heed ; 
Each seeks his face with gaze intense. 
As if, save one, was locked each sense. 



170 



Earnestly seize the old and young 

Words that drop from the stranger's tongue. 

And who is he, of the lifeless form, 
With drooping limbs, and blood yet warm? 
They've raised him from the river's bed — 
The water-lily round his head — 
The pulse all still, the spirit fled ! 
And this is why is told the tale 
At which the Hindoo's cheek is pale. 
'Tis of one who fed the altar's fire. 
And walked around the suttee's pyre, 
And stood before his god of stone, 
Blind worshipper of the Unknown. 
In senseless mysteries bearing part, 
Versed in the Shaster — not the heart. 
Ay, and he felt a void within, 
That waters were bootless for his sin : 
Ay, and he bowed beneath his pain. 
And rushed, uncalled, to God again ! — 
What hell can burn away that stain ? 

Beautiful now are the feet of him 
Who comes with voice of the seraphim, 
Standing, and telling of a balm for woes — 
A fount for the leper, that ever flows : 
A Gilead and Physician too. 
Which Paganism never knew. 
And teaching that relentless Fate 
Doth not on hapless mortals wait. 

Oh, God is not author of evil ; his love 
Share the dwellers below and the happy above ! 



171 



Sweeter than breezes of the South, 

Is pity from the teacher's mouth ; 

Sweeter than music of the spheres, 

Which the errand angel hears, 

Are tidings that fall on the Pagan's ears ! 

And he will hear, and the heart will melt, 

And the knee shall be Christ's which to devils has 

knelt. 
And meekness he'll learn from this deed of pride. 
And life from the Brahmin Suicide ! 



TO THE IDOLATER. 

Idolater in darkness ! we of light. 

Do humbly Christendom's neglect confess 

Of her dear Lord's last message ; and we bless 

Jesus, who spares, nor frowns us into night 

For this our sin, as righteously he might. 

We hear, at length, your lamentable cry. 

And the Church rises to your help. She arms 

Her young men. Look ! the kindling eye. 

That brightens at the note of war's alarms. 

The sinewy souls for whom stern toil has charms. 

The eager tread of those that go to die. 

Tell of the men, who, counting earth as dross, 

For you will gladly yield their latest sigh, 

So God have glory. Death and Hell have loss. 



172 



THE APPEAL. 

I read in a late number of tlie Journal of the American Tempe- 
rance Union, the following, from a gentleman in New Jersey, to 
the editor : — " You have my ardent prayers and humble efforts. 
He who has trembled for his life, feels more than tongue can ex- 
press. Rescub the youth I Onward ! Onward ! " 

Av, limner ! paint the certain ruin 

Which lingers in the drunkard's path ; 
The wo, the tears, the curst undoing-, — 

His fellow's scorn, his Maker's wrath. 
And paint the widow's frantic sorrow, 

And orphan's, made so by the cup, — 
Complete the sketch ! thou need'st not borrow 

One tint of hell to fill it up. 

The morbid appetite, still craving, 

Unsatcd as the greedy grave : 
The recklessness, all judgment braving, 

The sordid mind that marks the slave ; — 
The blight that hovers o'er our nation, 

Unless she timely turns the curse — 
Than pestilence or conflagration. 

Or war's infernal horrors, worse. 

Our teeming suburb's lanes and alleys 

Turn out to gaze of open day ; 
Expose their thousand haunts, where rallies 

The host, Intemperance leads astray ; — 



173 

His doings, too, the soul congealing, 

Of misery in the city's street, 
To rouse the latent throb of feeling, 

From Maine to Florida repeat. 

And yet, methinks, that page of sadness, 

To read which. Pity's tear would start, 
Must fail to check the tide of madness, 

Or move the pulses of the heart. 
Compared with that appeal, which Heaven 

Prompts, when, such fearful wreck to shun, 
A father hails the life-boat given. 

With " Rescue ! Rescue ! " for his son. 



THE SNARE. 



ILI.USTRATINO A PICTURE. 



" Weli-, now I have beat this sapling rigiit, 
'Tis small and lithe, and I'll soon make; tight 
This cord, and the noose I'll cunningly fix. 
And the rabbit will find I'm up to tricks. 
He'll not be the first that's seen my trap, — 
The spoils of many are in my cap ! 
'Tis sport — yet something sometimes stings. 
When I think of tlie gentle, timid things ; 
How carelessly I've contrived their death. 
As if I'd a right to stop their breath ! 



174 

I wish I knew a way to take 
The varlets alive, for Sally's sake ; — 
She often begs me to save her one, 
To be her pet, and share in her fun." 

Thoughtless, and simple, and happy boy ! 

A lesson learn from thy rural toy. 

Others are busily toiling as thou, 

Snares are artfully woven now ! 

The earth, the air, and the smiling sea, 

Are full of gins and nets for thee. 

Beware of folly — for should'st thou sip, 

The rose from tiiy cheek, the dew from thy lip 

Would quickly pass, and the cruel dart 

Of keen remorse would pierce thy heart. 

In vain, in the sight of any bird, 

Is the net prepared, and thou hast heard ! 

Oh ! look in thy youth to heaven in prayer, 

And He that's strong will save from the snare. 



NATURE'S WORSHIP. 

I stole away from tlie liot city to repair languid strength, by a 
sojourn at North Marslifielii, Mass., and there indited, for my 
little daughter, as follows : — 

How tlie tiny wren is making 

Music in its cheerfulness, — 
Of the watchful Guardian telling, 

Who a little bird can bless ! 



175 

How the giant oak and maple 

Toes th(Mr nohUi arms abroad, — 
Thickly laden willi the blossom, 

Whose wild fragrance smells to God ! 

How the honeysuckles, spotting 
This rich carpet of the vale, 

As they flaunt in very pleasure, 
Whisper, each to each, the tale ! 

How the glittering insect-squadrons, 
As they wheel and march in air, 

Lift aloud tlieir million trumpets. 
And their Leader's skill declare ! 

How the herds, that dot the hill-side, 
Mutely toll me, as they feed, 
*' God, who kindly cares for cattle, 
Is a bounteous Cod indeed ! " 

How the very sky is laugliing, 

By the Morning wooed and won, — 

How the very earth rejoices, 
'Neath the fervors of the sun ! 

" God ! " repeats the small birds' music, 
" God ! " the painted insects cry ; 

" God ! " the giant trees arc murmuring — 
" God ! " the little shrubs reply. 



176 

Voices from the solemn forest ! 

Voices from the tribes of flowers ! 
Voices from the brute creation, 

Sky, and earth ! — yet where are ours 

Poor and vile, toe cannot render 
Worship — darkened so by sin — 

Till the heavenly Sun of glory 

Pierce the shade, and shine within. 



COMPASSION. 

The squalid woman sat beside the bed ; 
And on that tattered bed, lay in repose 
Of death, her husband, who had died that night. 
The room was cumbered with old furniture 
And dirt. Reclined upon a broken chest 
Was the sick daughter, munching a poor crust. 
The corpse — the widow, rocking on her seat, 
In reverie of anguish — the wan child — 
The poverty — sent sickness to my heart. 
Another, yet, was there ; a neiglibor girl. 
Who came, with right good will and kindliness, 
To aid these sufferers. She the woman soothed. 
And washed and fed the child ; and decently 
Prepared the clay for its last narrow house. 



177 



THE SONS OF GOD. 



Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, 
that we should be cjiUed the sons of God. — IJolin iii. 1. 

So astonishing did this seem, when one of the Malabrian con- 
verts was required by the Danish missionaries thus to translate 
this passage, that he shrunk from it, as far too bold. " Let me 
rather render il," said he, " They shall be permitted to kiss his 
feet." — J^otes to Cotlafre Bible. 



TO THE ANGELS. 

And who are they that wear such name, 
By whom your starry courts are trod ; 
Above yon ministers of flame, 
And known as sons of God ? 
Whose forms seem like to men below, 
Whose anthems, sweeter than the rest. 
Speak of some sad, mysterious wo. 
Deliverance and rest ; — 
Who touch with warmer thrill the string 
Of warbling harps, and to their lyres 
Unwonted love and gladness bring. 
And far intenser fires : — 
Oh, who are they, whose lofty song 
To hear, your hosts delay their own, — 
That humblest bow of all your throng. 
And nearest to the throne ? 
12 



178 



THE angels' reply. 

These are from unknown tongues and climes, 

And this their song of sweet degrees ; 

Hark ! through wide heaven, as one, its chimes 

Peal, like the " sound of seas." 

And their rich music truly tells 

That each, whose feet with joy is shod, 

Once lost, now found, for ever dwells, 

The reconciled with God. 

From deepest depths of miry sin. 

Pollution, and the dreadful curse, 

Raised, and adorned without, within, — 

On thrones commanding us. 

They sing of chastisement and grace j 

And we, who never knew the rod. 

Gaze not on the Redeemer's face, 

As gaze these sons of God ! 



INNOCENCE. 

The golden days of Innocence 
Were only those when Adam trod 
The garden, — mind, and will, and sense. 
In sweet subjection to liis God. 

How swiftly flew those white-winged hours ! 
Each with some hue of heaven imprest — 
How honored were those Eden bowers, 
Where some bright angel oft was guest ! 



179 

Yet Innocence may still be seen 
In childhood's presence. Who can gaze, 
Unmoved, upon that brow, serene. 
That agile form, those witching ways. 

That playfulness of tiny mirth. 
That lively joy — and not confess 
That Innocence, still found on earth, 
Doth nestle in a child's caress ? 

And, therefore, when the painter's art 
Would sketch its charms in pleasant view, 
Revealing the unpractised heart — 
He always shows a child to you. 



THAT LOOK. 

And the Lord turned and looked upon Peter. — Luke xxii. 6J . 

That look ! — when eye met eye — what power 

Was in that wondrous look. 
Which he, deemed of the Twelve, a tower, 

Unshaken, might not brook ? 

Rolled forth the angry thunders then, 

To speak his blighting shame .'' 
Or met that chief of fickle men 

The Godhead's jjlance of flame .•' — 



180 

Revealing, where the mocked One stood 
The scorned in priestly hall — 

That ho, about to boar the wood, 
And dio, was Sire of All ? 

No ! snch was not His gracious will, 

IJis nature was not so ; 
Yea, tliat He, patient, pitieth still, 

My soul has cause to know ! 

Round that proud palace — dark as hell, 
With hell's completed crime — 

No forked and fiery vengeance fell : 
Twas not the Fatlier's time. 

No I nor on tliat Denier^ who 
For life, risked life above ; — 

Yet his forgiving Lord he knew, 
In that full orlance of Love ! 



THE TWENTY THOUSAND CHILDREN 

or THE SABBATH SCHOOLS IN NEW YORK, CF.I-EBRATl NG TO- 
GETHER THE KOURTH OK JULV, 1839. 

On, sight sublime ! oh, sight of fear ! 
The shadowing of infinity — 
Numbers ! whose murmur rises here 
Like whisperings of the mighty sea. 



181 

Ye bring strange vision to my gaze ; 
Earth's dreamer, heaven before me swims ; 
The sea of glass — the throne of days — 
Crowns, harps, and the melodious hymns. 

Ye rend the air with grateful songs 
For freedom by old warriors won : — 
Oh, for the battle which your throngs 
May wage and win through David's Son I 

Wealth of young beauty ! that now blooms 
Before me, like a world of flowers, — 
High expectation ! that assumes 
The hue of life's serenest hours, — 

Are yc decaijing? — must these forms 
So agile, fair, and brightly gay. 
Hidden in dust, be given to worms 
And everlasting night the prey ? 

Are ye immortal ? — will this mass 
Of life, be life, undying still, 
When all these sentient thousands pass 
To where corruption works its will ? 

Thought ! that takes hold of heaven and hell. 

Be in each Teacher's heart to-day ! 

So shall eternity be well 

With these, when time has fled away. 



182 



LAUREL HILL CEMETERY 

NEAR I'HlLAUELPHrA. 

When my spirit leaves the clay, 
And the holy priest doth say 
Over me, in huml)le trust, 
" Earth to earth, and dust to dust," 
And this mortal — tribute paid — 
In its narrow cell is laid, 
Till it gladly, quitting tombs, 
Immortality assumes, — 
Be that refuge of the weary 
In this lovely cemetery. 
Or in scenes inviting one 
To repose, his labor done, 
As these kindly do invite 
Me to tarry death's long night. 
Let me take my slumber, then. 
Far from haunts of busy men, 
In a spot as fair as this, 
Where the playful breezes kiss 
Early blossoms, fragrant flowers. 
Let me, in such quiet bowers. 
Find at last my resting place. 
Flesh to grave, and soul to grace ! 
'Mid such peaceful Sabbath reigning. 
Mid such melancholy plaining 



183 

Of sweet birds above my head, 
Would I tarry when I'm dead, — 
Would I take my solemn ease, 
Till shall Time his centuries 
Finish. Let me in such ground. 
When the world breaks up, be found. 
Here I'd rather choose to lie. 
Than in crowded charnels ; I 
Shudder at the thought of fingers 
Rudely handling that which lingers 
Of the mouldering form, and tossing 
Relics round, with jest and scoffing, 
As they were the vilest earth. 
Making of corruption mirth. 
Far from violated tombs, 
Lay me where the laurel blooms, — 
Wliere the murmuring river flows 
With the cadence of repose. 
Like a hermit would I steal 
Hither, where the vexing wheel 
Of the toiler is not heard, — 
Where the carol of the bird 
Mingles with the zephyrs' talk, — 
Where, at noon, the shady walk 
Beckons pilgrims, — where is found 
Room for lodgers of tiie ground ; — 
Where no sullen city wall 
Casts its shadows, like a pall, — 
Where no sacrilegious stir 
Mocketh at the slumberer, — 
Where the frjend may sigh alone 
Over the recording stone. 



184 

And liinuMil ol" Ii>V(> l>i' <.'ivtMi 

(>nlv iiiilo pilviii,'.'' Ih'iivt'M. 

Ill lli('S(- <>rov(«s wlifrc Wisdom miisclli, 

III I Ins spot Kt'lij^ion clioost'lli, 

I /<'l iii(> inv ii|)|)i>iiit(Ml liiiic 

NVnil, till sliirs no loiio-cr chinu''; — 

Till llic iiuisio ol' llic spluM't's 

Slops lor fvor, iind llu> osirs 

or llu' brciiiuTs from tlu> toiiil) 

lltMir \Uo Innnpct's call to (U»(MU. 



'V 1 1 i: \' ( > 1( ' I'] 



On ' wliiit n N'oico conit^s in the stilly luisli 

Ol" soIiMnn l\vilii>l»l, whon tlii' world's lond rush 

Is siU>m'(>d ! — iind it spt';ikt>lli sadly, tlitMi, 

Of iionrs inissptMil, ol" lolly w ron>';lit l)v iiicn. 

That Vt>iro is luNird amid tlit> busy din 

or lilo. In toll and pl»>asnr«% dtMMJs ol' sin, 

Lon^ sinco for^otltMi, as afcnsfrs, conu^ 

lip to rtMniMnbrance ; uwl'nl is tluMi' sum ! 

Tliat Voii't> ! — whiM'o ronu^s it. not? — T«k«» wintjs, 

tak(> winjjs, 
And still it t'olK»\vs with its talo of thin^-s 
Thon lovost not to dwell on ; — in thi«'k niofht, 
Day, distanri', yra, t>vtMi now, unto thy tlijjfht 
To <lri'ary solitude and luirriiMl tlir«)nt»'; — 
TtUiiio- that (i(>(/ /.\- //i.'///, aiitl thou art icrona^. 



181 



'I'll K I'OMT'S Til MM ll . 

TliKV err, who h:i y lliiil. every l.lieiiio 

Of Hoiiir 's exiiJiiiHted l»y llie IVliiHe, — 
'riinl, lied \h liiiK^y'H liiilcd drenni, 

And vaiii.siied iire ( 'iiHliiliii'H dewH ; 
I'll not, believe il, wiiile lliis lyn; 

IVliiy Honiid the sonj; iipproved nltovc, 
And while this homI, willi oilier lire 

'I'liiiii eiirliiH inll;inie<l, icspondH l.o love. 

Nol, love whi<'li |»ioni|»lH l.he wiiHHiiil-Song, 

When! hiiccdiauiiliaii hiindH are nicl ; 
Who hoiiHf,, II <;ii,r('-entniijr|ed l,liron/r, 

Thill, in the (uip Ihey can! lor^^ei. 
Nor y(!l, the iill-iinholy ll.inie 

Which, |)ur<dy kindled not for one, 
Jiiirneth helore the yod of Hhanie, 

At Hhrines where worshi|) the undone. 

I chooHe the theme, in this iwy leal" 

or life, Ihat Houtlied my early liourH ; 
And thoiijih liiijih hards, aeUnowledocd chief 

or thoHc that (»wn immortal powern, 
May cliariri corrodinfr iHh iiwuy. 

And phtuHe tli(! Hol't, IiixuriouH ear, 
I can; not, ho iny nuniherH may 

licguilu the thouj^htl'iil of a tear, 



186 

Or lull, as they have sometimes lull'd, 

The grief that came — a surging wave 
When, for her dead, the mother saw 

A cherub live beyond the grave ! 
Oh, still I choose the lyre, whose theme 

Is caught from lip to lip above ; 
Better tlian wine, or poet's dream 

Of earthly bliss, is heavenly love. 



THE ADVENT. 

Why, on darkness of the night, 
Streameth uncreated light ? 
Why, above the Eastern plains, 
Tremble those melodious strains .'' 
Who are those of perfect mould. 
Wearing crowns and harps of gold ? 
Why is stayed each eager wing .'' 
What's the glorious song they sing .-' 
This is light from yonder throne. 
These are strains from heaven alone. 
These the errand cherubim, 
These the praising seraphim ; 
They hold converse of the plan 
So just to God, so safe to man. 
And of Him, who diadem 
Leaving, comes to Bethlehem, 



187 

Mortals rescuing, sin-beguiled. 

" Mighty God ! mysterious Child ! " 

Hark ! in symphony they play, 

Golden strings repeat the lay ; 

An injured God, a frowning throne, 

Mercy to the rebel shown ! 

Sweetly, each immortal chord 

Tells of the descended Lord, — 

The bleeding Lamb an offering made. 

Earth restored, the pardon paid. 

Praise Him ! — When celestial wires 

Waken, where are earthly choirs ? 

Praise Him ! — When the hosts above 

Laud Him, where is mortal love ? 

Praise Him ! praise Him ! who hath given 

Peace on earth, and joy in heaven. 



THE DEAD BOY. 

Mother ! little William lies 
Very still — his laughing eyes 
Look no more on thee and me ; 
Though I speak, he will not hear- 
What may this, dear mother, be ? 
As I gaze, I almost fear. 
Though I stroke his silken hair. 
Touch his cheek, so pale and fair, 



188 

Though his pretty month 1 kiss, 
Yet he minds not — why is this ? 
His tiny hand will nothing hold, 
And his tingors are so cold ! 
William ! wake ! — it is not sleep, 
Surely, slumber's not so deep. 
Pretty baby ! look at sis — 
Look at me, and wake, or I 
Shall my little plaything- miss ; 
Wake, or darling sis will cry. 
I cannot think what makes him so — 
You told me, mother, he must go. 
Yet he's here, and yet he's not 
Somehow. Has he us forgot .-' 
Will he love me, then, no longer .' 
Me, wlio took him, as I'm stronger, 
Every day, upon my lap — 
Smoothed his frock and tied his cap — 
Played bo-peej), and made him smile. 
When you stood and laughed the while. 
Won't he move, or shake his head, 
As he used to do in fun .' 
Won't he learn to jump and run ? 
Mother ! mother ! is he dead .'' 

Yes, my daughter ! You must take 
Your last look. He will not wake. 
Never more with cunning ways, 
Watch you in your daily plays. 
Never show the pouting lips. 
Where a mother pleasure sips. 



189 

Nor the sweet mouth open, so 
We may see where pearls do grow. 
He was very sick, but he 
Is from sickness ever free. 
He was weak in every limb — 
Active now as cherubim 
Is he. How he sunk in pain ! 
He will never droop again. 
Tears of anguisii will not wot 
Those blue lids, where death has set 
Solemn seal ; the aching breast 
Heaves no more, for all's at rest. 
Oh, how changed from him we saw, 
When, last night, he tried to draw 
His pure breath, and each endeavor 
Seemed as if 'twould spirit sever 
From the suffering body. Now 
Calmness sits upon his brow. 
Dried is every tear that gushed^ 
Every laboring sigh is hushed. 
Death and sad decay are here ! 
Beauty of the skies is here ! 
Resurrection's light is here ! 
He is here, and he is not ! 
Oh, my child ! a blessed lot 
Is our William's now above, 
Where small children sing of love. 
Casting their young honors down 
At His feet, the harp and crown, 
Who in heaven the diadem 
Wears — the Babe of Bethlehem ! 



190 

Sweet the hymn, whose stately march 
VjVCt is around that arch 
Pealing of rodoniption ! Song, 
Sweeter, louder, doth belong 
To the cherub infant throng, 
Whose sweet voices warble clear 
Music, God delights to hear. 
Come, my daughter ! leave him now ; 
We in humble prayer will bow 
At our heavenly Father's feet, 
Asking that we all may meet 
Where the infant of an liour 
Is an angel. Where each power 
Of a feebU> babe may clasp 
Themes that angels cannot grasp. 
Parting is to-day in sorrow — 
Joyful meeting is to-morrow — 
With him, dearest, then to be 
Heirs of immortality. 



WAIT, WORKING! 

Watt thou on Jehovah ! instructively cries 

The Psalmist of Israel to thee — 
A guide to thy steps, and a light to lliine eyes, 

In darkness and doubt he will be. 



191 



Wait tliou on Jehovah in p()v<M-ty's lionr — 

Before him confidingly stand 
In mocknoss, and t\uH) will the arm of liis power 

Exalt, to inlierit the land. 

Wait thou on Jehovah, when wealtii, like a flood, 

Rolls in, and still consecrate this, 
In time of thy stewardship, wisely, to God, 

Lest thou his inheritance miss. 

Wait thou upon Him in importunate prayer. 

And he will thy sacrifice own — 
If with it 'tis humbly and truly thy care 

That labor is joined at the throne. 

For poor is oblation where chtirity's not, — 

Such formally waiting in vain 
Will be found, at the last, on thy garment, a spot — 

What ocean may wash out the stain ! 

In trials and blessings that meet thee, do thou, 

While glad, or submissively still, 
Rejoice in his love, to his provid(mc(! bow, 

And work, as thou icaitcst Jlis will. 

And thou, whose delight it may be, for thy Lord, 
In his Sunday school still to be spent — 

While scattering thc^rc; tiie good seed of the Word, 
Scan truly thy wish and intent. 



192 



Thou teachest another — hath Wisdom thee taught 

Thy folly and weakness to see ? 
And hast thou, in Aveeping' and watchfulness, brought 

Thy charge where the sinner should be ? 

In prayer dost thou wait, where, in secret, each face 

Of thy class rises up to thy love — 
And toil for these dear ones, believing that grace 

Will guide them to safety above ? 

Wait in all on Jehovali ! not passively wait ; 

With zeal be thou girded and shod — 
Sitting down, rising up, in the house, in the gate, 

Oh, WORK, as thou waitest on God. 

His universe serves him. The shining ones touch 
Their harps, as they wait his behest — 

Obeyers, while waiting ; we, too, may be such, 
Who more than the angels are blest. 



VICTORIA; 

ON SEEING HER PICTURE. 

God give thee helping grace I so young 
To sway the sceptre of a realm, — 

In barque so frail, on surges flung, 
And scant experience at the helm. 



193 



God give thee helping grace ! whose way 

Of brilliance, winds 'mid thrones and powers ; 

On either hand, allurements gay; 

Above thee, suns ; beneath thee, flowers. 

The earnest praise of titled throngs 

Is gathered round thy greatness now ; 
Inspiring theme of thousand songs. 

In palace, hall and cottage, thou ! 
And pleasure showers its blessings down 

For thee, and fair is fortune's shine ; 
And all that waits and woos a crown. 

Of reverence and love is thine. 

Not Albion with her sister states — 

Thy sea-girt empire — is alone 
Thy heritage ; to thee the gates 

Of eastern worlds are open thrown. 
And to thy will are subject kings, — 

And at thy rule are far lands seen, 
On whose extreme the sunrise flings 

No ray, nor sunset, twilight's sheen. 

How potent is thy arm to draw 

The sword ! — Yea, God's own boon of breath 
Hangs on thy pleasure, when the law. 

Severe, demands its forfeit, death. 
How sovereign, — thou the fount, — to strew 

Honors along the courtier's path ! 
How genial as the precious dew 

Thy smiles ! how fearful is thy wrath ! 
13 



194 

Yot, Lady ! high as destiny 

lliatli placed thee with a kiniidoui's dower, 
Thou art not from life's evils free, 

Nor yet above misfortune's hour. 
Let pointing History sternly tell 

In Antoinette's and Mar^'^'s blooil, 
That those are only safe, who dwell 

Fast in the palaces of God ! 

Yes, thine own Windsor's bowers can show — 

Whose pensive portraits line the wall — 
How freely regal blood can flow. 

How queens beneath the axe may fall. 
That not all virtues which e'er met 

In woman, if all met in thee. 
Could save thee, (Bullen, dost forget ?) 

Or bear thee safe through passion's sea, 

If Heaven permit the waves to swell 

That foam out thus a nation's shame ; — 
Their rising moan may be thij knell, 

For human hearts are still the same. 
And records of that heart can say 

"What foul cnjirice may stain its page, 
How she, its idol known to-day, 

To-morrow falls beneath its rage. 

Enough ! enough ! — my song intrudes 

Too long on all of happiness ; 
Yet fain, 'mid power's vicissitudes. 

Would I invoke the Power to bless. 



195 

Who holds the dreadful hearts of men. 

Lie thou within His gracious hand ; — 
And, Lady ! thou'rt in safety then, 

And safe thy throne and happy land. 



TO MY LITTLE SON, 



TWO MONTHS OLD. 



TiiEY said that I should give to thee, 
The name thy elder brother wore, — 
Thy absent brother, whom my knee 
Hath dandled, whom I hold no more. 
I cannot give thy brother's name 
To thee, my little inffint son ! 
In dust ho sleepeth, yet the same 
He seems, as either precious one 
Of those that still remain with mc : — 
I cannot give his name to thee ; 
The name thy elder brother wore, 
The plaything on our parlor floor, 
Who with us is no longer seen, — 
Oh, no ! I call thee not Eugene ! 
'Twould seem to blot him from his place 
Though he, to fill our bitU^r cup, 
Hath died, I cannot thus efface 
His memory. No ! I reckon up. 



196 

With tln'so dear chililron, the loved others 

Wlio Hlunibor in their early grave, 

As miur. I cite their several names — 

'Die huriiMl, with their livinir brothers, 

And sister, wiiich my Maker gave ; 

And love ns well the ahsiMit elaims 

Ah those around my liresidc* seen, — 

Oh, no ! 1 call thco not Euoknk ! 1837. 



TRUE SCI E MCE. 

Cour.n I name every curious root, 

And (^v«My lloweret (;all, 
From cedars of gray liehanon 

To hyssops on the Wall — 
What were my boasted knowled<;e worth, 

W«'ii»hed e'en in scales below — 
Did 1 not, by true science taught, 

The llooT OK Jkssk know P 

Could 1 with Chaldee's sages rove 

0\>r all the slarrij plain, 
And all tlu' shining world explore. 

Sought out till now in vain — 
What boots it, if its brightest gem 

Heaven give not to my eyes — 
And ne'er to my ecstatic view 

The SrAU of Jacob rise ? 



197 



a 11 ALL WE KNOW KACII OTHKIl IN 
HEAVEN? 

Ik, in iluit world of HpollcHH li^lit, 

Whoro jrood men dwull for ever, 
ThoHo, wil.li whom licre I took ddijrht, 

Shall prr(;nt my warm lovo m-vcr — 
ItH joyH, which cyv luiH Hoon not, oar 

Jl(!ard not, will he moHt preciouH ; 
Yd, loviiiii; thoHO, the triK; loved here, 

Would inak<; luMiven iMor(! dcjliciouH. 

If, tniadiiifr yonder eryHl.'ii Htrcet, 

'I'lioiJfrlilH, linked with time, eome o'er me. 
And formH of earth I longed to greet, 

Should paHS unknown hefore me ; 
My partner, with no irhunu; of love — 

My mcck-eyod child, a Htrangor — 
Should I not turn from howerH ahov(!, 

A Hud and ailent rang(;r ? 

(iod, who did give to Lovc'h Bwoet star, 

IJelow, its joyouH luHtre, 
Can hid itH gh)ri(!H Hhine afar 

When; h(!Ht aflectioriH duHter ; 
And I'll helieve the hliHH whows hirth 

ir<! Hpak(j, HO fair and vernal, 
Undimmed, unfaded, hero on earth. 

Like Ilim, will he eternal. 



198 



LKT MK LTVK TTI.T. I AM OLD 

Lkt iiK* livo fill T nin old ! 

Dcnili, Ihotiofh slill in iii.'inliood'H prime, 
1 would meet, as mi'ets the bold, 

Yet I fttin would " 'bide my time." 
VVbnt are tbn'eweore yearH and ten ? 

Sc.arc(>ly span enoujrh to kiss 
Tears from oil' Life's bl(>ssing8 : the 

Let uje jrather all Life's bliss. 
Tis a, little leaf, at best, 

VVliicli for ever I nuiy spidl 

Of Life's doin4fH, ill or we'll, — 
When amoufif the stars I rest, 
MeasurcMl by its sands of {jold, 

VVIitMi eternal day I fcdl. 
I jel ni(> live fill 1 am old ! 

No ! Ucdifrion quickly cries ; 

Lile hafli thorns as wtdl as rosc^s. 

Dealh llie earlier ;;rlin>pse discloses, 
Unlo him thai early dies. 
Of the peac(>l'ul paradise, 
Where sulliceth Ihonojit to dwell — 
Pausing 'mid that thunder song — 
On the path, or brief or long — 

Trod with joy, in sorrow trod, 

Meeting ]>l(»asur(^ or lh»> rod ; 
'Tis the same. In hi>aven 'tis well, 

If on earth we walked with (lod. 



199 



THE DEAD 



BuRiKD once, the sleeping dust, 
Let not chanfros, lot not lust 
Of reward, tempt hirelings rude, 
To disturb its solitude. 
In its coffin, in the clay, 
Hidden from tlie gaze of day, — 
Where upon the mouldering mass 
Groweth the luxuriant grass. 
Where the spotted grave cloth clcaveth 
To the bosom that ne'er hcaveth ; 
Where the snail his slimy trace 
Leaves on the unshrinking face ; 
Where, with sad corruption, pride 
Lieth nestling, side by side. 
Saying to it, Hail, my mother ! 
To the worm. My sister ! brother ! — 
Where the schemes and hopes of man 
Arc within a little span ; 
Where forgot are love and hate ; 
Where the beggar finds his mate 
In the prince, and beauty sleeps — 
Though the sluggish vapor creeps 
Round her with unwholesome chill j 
Where the weary takes his fill 
Of unbroken dreamless rest. 
Though the clod is on his breast ; 
Where the sons of Adam lie 
Moveless — till the melted sky 



900 

Mingles with the deep, and earth 
Yields them once again to birth, 
Ready — past death's night away — 
For the final judgment day. 
Till then — undisturbed be 
All that is mortality. 
Till then, Avarice ! spare the grave ; 
Till then, look not on the slave 
Shrouded here, ye curious eyes ! — 
Spare his dust the outrage, cries 
Decency ; such deed of night 
Grieves the heart and sickens sight. 



THE SAILOR BOY. 

Arise, oh. Lord ! look kindly on the deep 

Dark waters, which thy mighty hand outflung ; 

Whose wond'rous, awful beauty bards have sung 

And still exhausted not. While thy winds sweep 

Their moaning surface, and the billows leap 

Up to the heavens : when the storm's knell is rung, 

And every wave, tumultuous, hath a tongue 

Telling of God, who can its fury keep 

And who doth give it bridle — oh, look down 

In pity on that far off widow's joy — 

Her only hope, her comfort ! Do not frown 

Upon her prayer at this rough midnight hour ; 

But speak ! and spoil the dreadful tempest's power, 

And spare to her lone love her Sailor Boy ! 



201 



FUNERAL OF BISHOP WHITE. 

What meaneth this great concourse ? Yet they come, 

Crowds gathering on crowds. It is not festival — 

It looketh not like mirth. Subdued and still 

Men range themselves, and every face doth wear 

Expression of deep grief. 'Tis scarce high noon, 

Yet is the daily hum of voices hushed ; 

Footsteps fall lightly, as 'twere holy time ; 

Labor doth pause, and Commerce rests his wheel ; 

The merchant's not on change — the shop is shut 

Of artisan. Unwonted silence reigns, 

And hither on his journey comes the dead ! 

By reverend presbyters and fathers borne, 

By numerous footsteps of bereaved men, 

And by the blessings of a people followed, 

Full of ripe years and honors, to the tomb 

Goeth a good old man — the patriarch 

Of ninety winters. 

Is the Bishop dead 9 
Yes, in his season, like a shock of corn. 
Ripe, fully, he is gathered. We may mourn 
That he no more is of us ; and yet tears 
Seldom are blended with so much of joy, 
At recollection of departed worth. 
No more may he, in deep humility. 
Plead for his Master. Counsels fraught with love, 
Shall from his lips, like dew, distil no more. 



202 

No more that form, majestic, shall be seen, 
Relic of by-gone days — within our streets, 
Awing the base, and gladdening the good. 
That form is in the dust. He hath laid by 
The mitre, to put on a heavenly crown — 
The earthly lawn, to wear immortal robes. 
Go to thy grave, blest prelate ! there are few 
Lie down so peacefully. A Church in tears 
Attests our love, the smiles of opening heaven 
Show for thee, God's approval. Sainted one ! 
May we depart as happily, as safe. 
Philadelphia, 1836. 



BRUTALITY. 

I SAW two dogs, in open street, one day, 

Fighting most madly. They were very strong, 
Well shaped and active ; and they fiercely shook 
And bit each other, till their strength gave way. 

They were cheered on again by a vile throng 
Of men and vagrant boys, who idly took 
Sides in the battle ; betting, some on Dick, 
And some on generous Neptune. Sick 

At heart, and weary of my race, I said : 
" Which of the animals is noblest — he 

Whose savage cruelty is basely fed 
By pain and blood, and who is pleased to see 
Flesh torn and quivering in eager fight, — 
Or him, the misnamed brute ? The brute, in reason's 

siofht." 



203 

THE SANDWICH ISLES. 
On the late intelligence of many conversions tliere. 

The Sandwich Isles ! the Sandwich Isles ! 
How fair on ocean's breast they seem, 
Reflecting the immortal smiles 
Which from the Source of glory beam. 
Oh, 'twas not thus the ages gone. 
When they in error's night lay dim, 
God's jewels, that in silence shone 
Most beautiful, yet not for Him. 

The Sandwich Isles ! — as in a glass, 
Their dark-eyed sons rise up to me. 
No longer pagan ; — while they pass 
From O-a-hu and 0-why-hee, 
I mark their faces shorn of shame. 
Like glorious men who spurn the dust, — 
The last to know of Freedom's name. 
But in her lofty triumphs first. 

The Sandwich Isles ! their coral coasts, 
Their fairy dales, and hills, and plains, 
Have echoed to the Lord of Hosts 
Redemption's never-tiring strains. 
Oh, how unlike the savage song 
Which o'er them once to idols rung. 
When madness seized the tossing throng. 
And blasphemy defiled the tongue. 



204 

The Sandwich Isles ! where from the hreast 
The mother phicked her clinging child, 
And hushed its little woes to rest 
In blood — Oh, God, how sweetly wild 
The mother's hymn ascends to Thee ! 
And who that mother's joy may tell, 
As with her child she bends the knee 
At summons of the Sabbath bell ! 

The Sandwich Isles ! — each laden breeze 
Brings token of rich fragrance there ; 
I scent, across the surging seas, 
The aroma of new-born prayer. 
Oh, give me wings ! my soul would flee 
To regions where the Spirit smiles ; 
'Tis midnight here — 'tis morn with ye. 
The Sandwich Isles ! the Sandwich Isles ! 

1839. 



MORTALITY — IMMORTALITY. 

I SAW some workmen toil, the other day, — 

'Twas in St. Mary's churchyard — on a tomb 

Which they were rearing for new tenantry. 

And to prepare it they had digged a vault 

Some six feet square, and more than twice that depth, 

Just in the heart of this dense burial place. 

Where every foot of the rich earth is fattened 



205 



With human dust ; and bones lie intermixed 

With the green mould, as thickly as in charnels. 

The men were somewhat rough, — over their task 

Swearing and jesting, making plenteous mirth 

Of the poor fragments which they shovelled up. 

So I approached them timidly, and looked, 

And saw, along the sides of the deep trench, 

Dark niches, each of which had been a grave ; 

And some were empty. As I gazed, I saw 

A cofBn at full length, embedded fast 

In the hard clay. The sharp spade in descent 

Had shaven off the side of the deal chest, 

Admitting daylight on the sleeping dead. 

And what a sight ! — In duskiness and damp, 

Mildew, and noisomeness of sad decay. 

Reclined the skeleton. It had been there 

For years — the flesh all gone, the crumbling bones 

Disjointed. Long ago the pampered worm 

Had had his feast, and died. Years had rolled by 

Since, with the tears of kindred, these remains 

Were lodged in their dark chamber ; those who wept 

Had also gone. — None told me of the dead. 

I closely looked, and saw what once had been 

Another coffin ; but the turning up 

Rudely, of the heaped earth had crushed it in ; 

And coffin, bones, and dust were blended all 

In loathesomeness. Apart, I saw the skull ; — 

'Twas small and delicate — and the next spade 

Threw up a mass of long disshevelled hair. 



206 



It was a woman's form that thus was flung 

Carelessly from its bed to open day. 

The hair was firm, luxuriant, and beautiful, 

And still retained its glossy, golden hue, 

Even in decay, and saturate with damps. 

Once it descended on an ivory neck. 

And the young wearer little deemed that plucked 

From the fair head on which it grew, 'twould serve 

To fill the shovel of a laborer. 

And little recked she, tresses, among which 

The fingers of a lover once had played 

Delightedly, should be the sport of such, 

And thus be tossed and handled, and let fall 

Quickly, as they were poisonous. Away 

I went, and pondered my mortality. 

* ****** 

I held his hand — 
'Twas chilly cold, yet softly he returned 
My pressure. On his pallid brow sat damps. 
And on his quivering lips the dew of death 
Had gathered. Over him his anxious wife 
Leaned tearfully. His little ones were there ; 
And silent neighbors stood apart to see 
How manfully the Christian might gird up 
His loins and welcome death. 

I asked him then 
Of hopes beyond the grave. If in this hour 
Its Conqueror was nigh, and if he saw 
With Faith's clear ken, the Star that ever burns 



207 

Upon the tomb's dark confines, still to cheer 
The soul, departing ; and if aught he heard 
Of music, which breaks forth celestially 
On ears that unto earth are shut ? And these — 
His precious ones — could he leave these ? He looked 
Most sweetly upward, murmuring gently, " All, 
All, all for Christ ! — Grave, where's thy victory ? 
Oh, Death, where is thy sting ? " — and peacefully, 
With that last word, he fell asleep. I thought 
The narrow house for him could have no dread ; 
He feared not death, nor sad corruption. He'll 
Sleep very pleasantly where Jesus slept ; — 
His mortal immortality puts on. 
Philadelphia^ 1836. 



EARLY CONSECRATION. 

Thou hast the dew of thy youth. — Psalmist. 

Infant ! upon the mother's breast, 

God gave thee life and limb, 
And we, whom thy first smile has blest. 

Do yield thee back to Him — 
A beauteous fliower, on which the dew 

Of love may freshly lie } 
Content, if grace may thee renew, 

And fit thee for the sky. 



308 

Child ! that to hours of busy play 

Do^t health and gladness bring — 
That, tir(>loss, sooni'st all summer day 

A blitlie bird on the wing — 
Thou surely art a gift to bless 

The earth, by sorrow trod, 
And yet thy wealth of happiness 

We consecrate to God. 

Youtli ! that with careless step dost tread 

The llovviM'y road of bliss. 
And shunning brighter worlds, art led 

To seek thy heaven in this, — 
We watcli tliy wayward way with pain, 

And asking mightier care 
To guard thy inexperience, fain 

Would yield thee up in prayer. 

Oh, as we ponder o'er the path 

Wliicli ye, alone, must walk, 
And mark where skies are mustering wrath, 

And storms together talk, — 
Remembering He who safely guides 

The wrack, is round ye too, 
That He life's twilight kindly bides 

To whom was given its dew — 

We gather round His shielding love, 

And weep as wi^ draw near ; 
There is no sUuUk'd crown above 

So precious as that tear. 



209 

Yet, in His presence, words are weak, 

DcHini is iiiijrlity, we 
Ask boon thai Time can never speak, 

That means Eternity. 

Even angels hjok — such olHtring paid, 

Where love intense has part — 
To see it on that altar laid, 

An anxious mother's lieart ; — 
Acceptable^ to (Jod, who strung 

Each fine mysterious string ; 
And who, to move the thoughtless young, 

Doth touch the hidden spring. 



MANY WAYS. 

Manv ways, Jehovah ! Thou 
Ilast to mak(; the sinner bow ; 
Many gracious ways to bring 
Home the lost and wandering — 
Journeyers in forbidden roads. 
Whom a guilty conscience goads ; 
And th(! thoughtless, who is free 
From its stingings. Lord, to thee 
Thou dost win in many ways, 
And to thee be all the praise ! 
Some thou callest in a tone 
Musical as Mercy's own. 
14 



210 

Sweet the harmonies that tell 
Of forgivonoss, then ; — a spell 
Is upon tlie spirit riven, 
Not of earth, but all of heaven. 
Some tliou callest by tlic loud 
Thunder iiigs of thy judgment cloud ; 
When the midnight volleying peal 
Doth to quickened tliought reveal 
All of vileness, dared and done, 
All of utter ruin won. 
When transgressors, that were wooing 
Pleasure to the soul's undoing. 
Pause, bewildered — look within. 
Look to Christ, and leave their sin. 
By tlie path of sorrow, thou 
Leadest stricken parents now ; 
She who bendeth silently 
O'er the child that soon must die, 
Thou dost call in every groan 
Of that sufferer, to her own 
Keener anguish answering, — 
Thou in bitterness dost bring, 
That she may of mercy sing, 
And from flowerets of the tomb 
Turn to trees of living bloom. 
Some by sickness thou dost call, — 
Some, above a buried friend, 
Ponder on their latter end. 
Others, shuddering at the pall, 
Winding sheet, and sepulchre, 
Turn to thee. Amid the stir 



211 

Of the busy multitude, 

Some — and some in solitude ; 

Some, in visions of the night ; 

Some, when basking in the bright 

Beamings of prosperity ; 

Some in abject poverty. 

Some — filled up existence' page — 

Thou dost call in wintry age ; 

Some — most sweet and pleasant flowers • 

Offer thee their vernal hours. 

Some, in their ancestral halls. 

Some, as beggared prodigals ; 

Some, the anxious father's care, 

Poured out in tlie midnight prayer ; 

Some, a mother's quiet tear 

To the kingdom bringcth near. 

Plaintive hymn dissolves that soul, 

This, the nol)le organ's roll ; 

Some, a single caution wins ; 

This one stops, in view of sins 

Raging round him like a flood, 

And rebuked, alarmed, to God 

Flies he in the troublous hour, 

Only safe with Sovereign Power. 

Some, within their cedar rooms. 

Others, wrapt in dungeon glooms. 

Some, whose lot with thrones is cast, 

Some, upon the giddy mast ; 

Some, before the public gaze. 

Some, in secret. Many ways 

Of compassion. Lord ! hast thou I 

Teaching rebel men to bow ; 



213 

Many ways to brinij to tlico 
Wilful lirart iind Hl.ul>l>orn knee ; 
JVIany ways to lead abovt; : — 
Oh, for ways to inaisc tliy love ! 



T 1 1 i: V K II I-' K r I'l () N I S T . " 

(Jo, proud PiTKu'tioniHt ! approach the thront; 
Wrapt in thy Ht'll-wrou<i^ht riijhteousucHs ahnu' ; 
And Hi'oniiiiii- thus tlit> Savi«»ur's (•limsoiicd rohc, 
Look irrcatly down on l*:inl, Isaiah, and Job. 
Hiddinir him stiind apart, who, in his need, 
('ravt'd iVoiii Sin's loathsonic hody to ho iVoi'tl. 
Doridinjf, in thy pnrity, (ho r\y 
'That hurst inipassioncd, when tlu^ j)roplu>t'H oyo 
Saw olinipsc ol' Ihoso that company ahovc, — 
Mow pure the lips that warhio nuitchlcss love ! 
How vih* his own ! — Spurn him who iMt tlu> rod, 
And yot, in all,sinm'd iu)t, nor idly charijcd his (Jod. 
Do this, and as thou proudly livrst, as proudly die, 
Ami ho alone ! — 'l^luui inayost not sit on \\\^h 
With thos(^ that wasluMl in Idood thoir raiment \vhif(>, 
Tho «lwolh'rs now in uneroatod lioht. 
No ! wliilo tiioy touch tlu^ sjlowinir chords of love. 
Another harp 'lis thiiu' to tak»» ahovo. 



* A rcprt'Hcntiitivd ofllH" seel wliitli i>|ipt:ii(il a lew yt^irs Hiiico 
\u llit< western piiil oC New Vdili sUile — rupiidiiitorH ul'tlio Blblo 
iiiid llie tiidiituiicos iil'thu ^ospol. 



213 



Tlioy to their Saviour wnkc tlio irolthm Btrin^r, 

'^I'lioii, to tliy tiiHk, will, tliy I'rrj'cctloii, brinjr. 

While the redeemed ones joyfully cuHt down 

B»'r«>re Mf'Ssiah'H pahu and starry crown, 

Tlum vuil. vicar l/iitu\, hh c-oiulMrtlcHH thou'lt Htaud, 

Far from the hmnl)l(' yet cxaltj'd hand ; 

And, Hlniiniinir all i(,H j'»yH and Hphindorn frivcn, 

In thy own Hclfwilt find thy cIkmtIchh heaven. 

Oh, wec!]) hetiineH, :ind hs'ivin^ all thy j)ride, 

With lis make only hoant, that Jkhi;« J)1K1> ! 



TITE BUNKER II ILL TILE. 

Tjmk waH, when men, to keej) in memory 
Brave deeds of their old fathers, on this spot, 
Where battle in just quarrel once was hot — 

Said, that hewn stone should ris*', and ever bo 

A record of their daring, who did meet 
Th(! Briton in unctqual, bloody fij^ht, 
Stroni^ in the cause of ('ountry, (iod, and Right, 

And won their vi«:t()ry in a proud retreat. 

Now, (such the loftier triumph of swe«'t Peace,) 
The work, like troubled Babel, is at stand. 
Long be it thus ! — No monument our land 

Asks, their memorial, save tin; sun; increase 
Of glad prospttrity, that still doth wait 

The unambitious Free, the virtuous Stale. 



314 



VERSES FOR A TEMPERANCE 
S O C I E T Y . 

Brino garlands ! Tiino sliall IumhUoss slip 
III pltMisiirr, whilo wr wroaths (Mitwiuo ; 
IJrintjj i^oblcls ! — as Iw llirs, llu> lip 
Wo'll press unto the rosy wine. 
And \vc will huio[li, for life's a drtMini, 
Its cares not worth a passinjj sij^h ; 
Re mirth and wine, to-day, our thonio, 
'rt)-nu)rrow wi>, {)tMi'liance, may die ! 

Such was the sono- the Syren sunj^ 
Ten years ago, to thoughtloss men ; 
And such the fetters that she tlung. 
Concealed in llowers, around them then. 
The song is hushed, or banislunl, now, 
To haunts by vile int>briates trod ; 
To win(> tlie wise no longer bow, 
The chain is broke, we thank thee, Cod.! 

Yt>s, ire are kkkk ! — but who are tliese. 

The hloateil, brutish, shackleil crew. 

All nioht who tarry at tlu> lees, 

With morning who the cup ri^new ? 

Ah ! they are Men, though sadly sold 

To death that stings beyond the grave ; 

Our bnthrcn^ — niinds that thou didst mould, 

Oh, God ! shall we not haste to save ? 



215 



Tin-: MOTJiim of j.yman.* 

TIk! iiiotlicr of l.yiiiaii, Hiiid lt(;v. Dr. II(iiri|)lir(-y, wuh a iiitiKh- 
bor of IiIm (iwti, iitid HuriK; tiific iiitforc tin; ixtvvH nniveil nrtlK; cii- 
t(iHtr()|)li() nutoiin tliti KaUiiH, hIk; IiiuI IdHt littr liiiHlmixl, who dioil 
Hiiddciily and Icfl lior in cliarKC ofa lar^d family. 'J'IiIh widowed 
inotlier liad Hcarccly ntlurncd from pouring out Uc-r totirN over tim 
Kravo of licr protector and «"''''■■» when the intelligence arrived. 
It had heen lirouKht flrHl to himHcIf, and he had heen, in ronHC 
quence, recpieHtrid to j»o and mai((! to her the dreadful annuncia- 
tion. " r tniuhle<l," Naid Dr. II., '« aH f went, and I Kaid to my- 
mdf, how will IhiH mother, a widow in her weedn, witli the tearn 
hardly dry upon lier cheek from the Niidditn Iohh of her hiiHlumd, 
how will kIk!, how can Hhe n^ceiv*; tlilM intelli;,'ence ! I went, 
and communicated it in the hr;Mt way I could. The tearH flowed 
freely, it Ih true ; but oh ! wliat ll^iit nIiouo IhrouKh thoHe teum ! 
AlmoHtaH Hoon aH hIio waH able to Hay any tiling, "he (rxciaimcd — 
< I I)I(;hh (<od who i;avu m<; hucIi a Hon to ({o to the heathen, and 
I nev(;r fell ho HtroM^ly an f do at IIiIh momi^nt, the denire that 
Home fither of my hoiih may Ixtcome mlHHionarieH alno, and may 
(;o and teach the trutliH of tlit; Itihie to IIiohc Navagu men who 
liave drunk the Itlood of my h(jii.' " 

I'oKTH, ciniilous of glory, 
Jiovo lo tell iJio horo'H Htory, — 
Lov(! to wake the tiuirtiiil cry, 
" On, to doatli or victory ! " 
Tli(!n, ill paiic^^yrir; vcrHc, 
Proud Ainl)il,i(»ii'H dctMlw ndicarw;. 
PttHning frw, til*' peaceful lays 
Strung to lowly Virtuc'H jiraiHo ; 
V iiHHi HfT fan ^ the j)l;iu<litH given 
To thodcedH tiiat bre.itlio ol" lioavcn. 

* A mlfiuionary wIkj waH killed by tin; nativen of Huinalra, in 
1835. 



2IG 

Yet, iil)()V(' llic praiHC of men, 
Look(uI (iiir Liiiiiiiiis iiiollicr, when 
TidiiijifH IVom llic liciillicii caiiic, 
Thiit. luiollirr i^Iorioiis iiiiiik', 
That, iiiKillicr iiiiltic Hoiil 
liivcH upon llic iiiiirl,yr'H Hcrrctll, — 
(fiiriicnMl HiilMy — wiirlUri! doiio — 
And tliat blost ono is licr Bon ! 

Yes, licr S[)irit'H tlioii^^lit had hirlh 

KlH((wh('n;, tliiiu with IhinoH ol' earth. 

For earth never oouUl impart 

So inn;i-nauiniotiH a heart. 

Piiiiiui |»ii|>(' niiiy ii(vv(U' hill 

Ol' a votiiry, wlio ho well 

Saciilirc ol' hcU' ruiild make, 

For llic («od of Worship's sake. 

S(dr-(l('v<tlioii, lioly, line, 

Wliich the Uoniaii never knew ; 

Sell'-devotioii, all nnpric(>d, 

WJiieh adorns the www <»(' ( Mirist, — 

Seir-devoti(»n sta_ye<l her ho, 

When the siiU'erer in lier wo, 

Widowed yesterday — firHt knew 

She was written r///////r.s-.s-, too. 

driel" lIowH freely as she hears, 

Yet a li^ht Hliines thronj^h thoHO tears ; 

And iier praises unto (Jod — 

Who with hloHSonis elothes the rod — 

Who from hitter, sweetness In'ingH- — 

She, a, ('hristian mother, sinii^'.s. 



217 

Glorying in such a son, 
Glorying that she had one 
Freely willinir to 1)(; Hpcnt 
In the diHtiint Orient ; — 
Willing, in his early spring, 
Blooming buds iirid llowcrH to bring, 
Sacrifice of swectewt Hincll, 
Which Jehovah lovetli well. 

Who, hereafter, doubtn the world 
Shall, one day, behold unfurled 
Banners of our King ?— IV/iv fears 
For liis righteous cauH(.', that hears 
Of this mother's quiinchless zeal ? 
Who, that heareth, will not feel 
Stirrings of the soul, engaging 
llim to go where strifi? is raging,— 
Buckling on tin- sword and shield, 
Burning for the victor's field ? 



YOUTH'S TEMPERANCE ODE. 

Wk'vr heard that round the wine-oup's brim, 

A thousand pleasunjs stray. 
And that strong drinks have wondrous power 

To drive dull care away ; — 



218 

But we have seen the flashing light 

Which from the goblet came, 
Load, like the meteor, on to tears, 

And wretchedness, and shame. 

We've heard that though 'tis well enough 

For men the pledge to sign. 
Yet youth need never be in haste 

Their freedom to resign ; 
But we are sure, ill habits formed 

In youth, destroy the man : 
And we'll secure us from the snare 

Thus woven, if we can. 

Ay, let him boast of freedom, who 

To appetite's a slave. 
And in tliat war for poverty 

And ruin, is so brave ! 
'Twill serve his comrades, who, like him, 

Are fettered by the curse ; 
But coaxing, fooling, will not do 

For Temperance Boys like us ! 

The children in Chaldea's court. 

Who would not drink the wine. 
Not only fair in flesh were seen, 

But wisdom liad, divine. 
Like them, we choose the generous draught, 

God's cool, sweet springs supply ; 
And at the last, those streams, of which 

Who drink, shall never die ! 



319 



THE ELEVENTH HOUR. 

ILLUSTRATING A PICTURE OF A DEATHRED 8CE!«E. 

Was it, that I shunned repose, 

Sat up late, and early rose, 

Eat the bread of carefulness. 

And denied my soul each good 

With which Heaven is wont to bless — 

In my raiment, in my food, 

In my labors, in my pleasures, 

Studying to increase my treasures ; 

Stranger unto pleasant mirth. 

Stranger unto all that earth 

Deems most innocent, that I 

Must o'er disappointment sigh? 

Why did boundless Fancy wander — 

Why did halcyon Hope beyond her 

Go, in hourly dreams of gold ? 

Was it that I might be sold 

Unto keen remorse — the sting, 

Never dying, of the heart. 

In which Grace hath never part ! 

Far beyond the enchanting cup 

Which gay Pleasure mixes up — 

Far beyond Ambition's bliss, 

Purchased from a world like this, — 



220 

By the lost in folly's whirl, 
Who for baubles gives the pearl 
Of the never-sated spirit — 
Yes, beyond all, to inherit 
Bliss, I thought was surely mine. 
When I knelt at Mammon's shrine, 
And with still, mysterious stealth, 
Gazed upon the heaped up wealth — 
Gloated on the golden pile 
With a stern and secret smile. 
Mighty were my schemings ; then 
Was I mightiest of men. — 
Promising my morning, soon 
Came a cloud, and at my noon 
Fate was in conspiracy 
To shroud o'er my evening sky. 
Quickly was I called away 
From those visions of delight, 
To behold their dire decay, 
To behold the winter's blight 
Seizing on my blossom ; — God ! 
Thou didst hold an angry rod. 
Well I knew thy power was such, 
Joy comes springing at thy touch ; 
Well I knew thou couldst destroy, 
When I saw my smitten boy ! 
Hovering o'er my dying bed 
Ghosts of murdered moments stand ; 
Every soothing angel fled ; 
Who will chase the hateful band ! 



221 

Thou that minist'rest to care, 

Temporal, canst thou hush despair ? 

Thou that heal'st the body's pain, 

Canst thou charm back peace again ? 

Thou, that holy text doth bring, 

Canst thou stop the spirit's wing ! 

All that can the soul concern, 

Of that onward, dread eterne — 

All that can harass, alarm, 

All that may death's sting disarm. 

All that God to man hath given 

Of the unrevealed heaven ; 

All of earth's deceiving schemes, 

All that realizes dreams 

Of infernal horror — all 

Of that unnamed, bitter thrall — 

Memory wakened, conscience smarting. 

All that waits the mind, departing 

To the mind's appalling doom. 

To its ever living tomb, — 

All of wasted life that's past, 

All the future, at the last 

Gathering in a fearful might, 

All of everlasting night. 

All of tortured body's ill. 

All of unsubdued will. 

All that was and is to be. 

All of vast eternity. 

With an overwhelming power. 

Crowded in the eleventh hour ! 



222 



TRACT VISITATION. 

ITovv simple, {fodliko, tho dovleo lluit brinj^s 

Tlio thought in contact with eternal things ! 

Such is the Tract, whose silent power is seen 

As kindly dew upon the niargent green. 

Such is the )nonthly call, when counsel given 

Confirms the faint, the erring leads to Heaven, 

And not to opulence confined, that goes 

To the low dwelling, redolent of woes. 

Searches out want — unwearied, by the bed 

Of sickness kneels, and bathes the aching head ; 

And points the dying to a bettor shore. 

Life's ocean passed — where storms shall vex no 

more. 
I've seen the hovel, o'er whose threshold ne'er 
Came minister of Christ. No herald here 
Had crossed to bind tlie broken hearted up ; 
Its inmate drank of misery's bitter cup : 
And the gay, smiling world knew not his grief — 
Yet came an angel, seeming, with relief. 
She, with a Tract, her i)assport, entered there, 
And soothed the sutferer ; lightened every care ; 
And having won his love, her errand gave 
Of Him who only can the sinner save. 
Her converse, prayers, were blest, and he, the rod 
Had failed to move, by luce was brought to God. 



223 



HORTICULTURAL GRAVEYARD. 

Wiro would ho. buried in a city ? Who 

Would chooHc, life's labors done, to lay him down 

In the Bcant ground, assigned as resting place, 

Wlu^re no grass grows ? Or in the sullen tomb, 

Loathsome, and sad, to be iuurned, or 'neath 

The solemn church, where in the dusky aisles 

Are rows of vaults, on whose dark, dripping doors 

Never falls sunbeam ? Sympathy dwells not 

In crowded towns ; — there Avarice hatii its reign. 

Avarice, that calculates the very worth 

And nice proportion of each petty thing 

That can be coined to gold. Why, I have seen 

In this good city, where a plot of land 

Two hundred years ago our sires had given, 

To this most sacred i)urpos(( consecrate — 

Wh(>re men might lay their dciid : a spot 

That opened to tlu; breeze, and shaded, too. 

My cheerful trcies, which tlir(!w tbciir siiadow o'er 

The grassy graves — now, all begirt with walls 

Tow'ring to heaven, that seem to covet e'en 

The niggard space allotted to the dead. 

And in one corner of this holy soil, 

With thrift, a cunning Yankee had him made 

A kitchen garden ! Yea, I saw the graves 

Teeming with corn and squash. 'Twas sad to note 



224 



The stalk o'ertop the monuments, and vines 
Spreading and curling round the stones that time 
Had spared for ages ; — spared, to be thus mocked 
By calculating plodders, who would fain 
Eat vegetables gathered from the bones 
Of a dead father, and lick up the food 
Grown on a mother's dust. He that would gaze 
On such perversion, may himself betake 
To the King's Chapel burying ground, and weep. 
July, 1839. 



CHARLES RIVER. 

I DO remember thee, transparent stream ! 

And cause there is that I should sometimes dwell 
Gratefully on the season loved so well — 
Glances of which, in fancy's witching dream, 
Come up in sober manhood, — Childhood's hour ! 
When wasted with disease, my languid frame 
They plunged beneath thy waters. Newly came, 
By oft-repeated trial, health and power 
To my unhopeful system. Strength of limb, 
And renovated life, didst thou restore 
To him so helpless and so dead before. 
For this, while I gaze on thee, unto Him 
Who scooped thy winding way, and fringed thy banks 
With drapery of green, I render joyful thanks. 



225 



MONT PILATRE. 

The Proconsul of Judea here found the termination of his impi- 
ous life ; having, after spending years in the recesses of this 
mountain, which bears his name, at length, in remorse and de- 
spair, rather than in penitence, plunged into the dismal lake 
which occupies the summit, — Legend hi Anne of Qcierstein. 

When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather 
a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before 
the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just 
person ; see ye to it. — St. Matthew, xxvii. 24. 

Immortal infamy is his 

Who gave the Saviour up 
To bear the Jew^ish scourge and scorn, 

And drink the Roman cup. 
He washed his hands in sight of men, 

And slander thought to kill, — 
Yet was he foul, and to this hour 

His hands are spotted still. 

There's something of audacious crime 

In guilty Judas found, 
Though viler than the vilest thing 

That crawls upon the ground ; 
But he who had not fortitude 

In trial's honest hour. 
To own the outward influence 

Of conscience' secret power, 
15 



236 

And whose unfeeling, coward heart, 

Intent on selfish ease, 
Did seek, with sophistry and art, 

Both God and Man to please, — 
Of God abhorred, of man despised, 

And shunned by fiends below — 
Where shall the wretch, to hide himself. 

And hide his meanness, go ! 



NEW ORGAN IN CHRIST CHURCH, 
PHILADELPHIA. 

They've reared the organ. He,* whose fond desire 
It was to beautify this hoary pile, 
Whose voice once lingered sweetly in its aisle. 
Is absent from the service. Lo, this spire, 
Antique and venerable, looketh down. 
As for a century it hath, upon our town ; 
The doors are open still ; along these walls 
Swells noble minstrelsy ; but now no calls 
Of love, persuasive, from his lips shall come — 
The pastor that hath wooed for Christ is dumb. 
Dumb f No ! his song is where ten thousand times 
Ten thousand bow ; where the melodious chimes 
Sound, as abroad the heaven of heavens they roll. 
The diapason of the ransomed soul ! 

* The late Kev. J. W. Jaaies, Rector of Clirist Churcli. 



227 



A PSALM OF SICKNESS. 



But if I must afflicted be, 

To suit some wise design, 
Then man my soul with firm resolve, 

To bear and not repine. — Robert Burns. 

Since this, my couch, a battle fiel4 

Appointed is to me, 
May I, all armed with holiness, 

And kindly patience be. 

While noble spirits boldly make 

Strong onset on the foe, 
May I, in sufferance, draw the sword. 

And deal as sure a blow. 

If I shout not, where trump and drum 
The army's triumphs swell, 

In the soul's solitude I may 
Of equal victory tell. 

Not less may these, my passive pains. 

With fortitude received, 
Speak honor to my Prince, than all 

High daring hath achieved, 



228 

Not less my thankfulness for love, 
And sympathy's sweet voice, 

Than all their thunder-tones of praise. 
When all the ranks rejoice. 

Then, sickness, come ! and darting pain, 
That through my frame do fly — 

For final ease, I welcome ye : 
To live, I gladly die. 

With Him who leads the glorious fray. 

Whose favor gives renown. 
The lowliest bearer of the cross, 

If true, shall share the crown. 



EVERYS. 

Every sorrow here. 

Which from evil seems to rise. 
If it start contrition's tear. 

Is a blessing in disguise. 

Every friend that grieves. 

By frail insincerity, 
Teaclieth of a Friend that leaves 

Never, but still helpeth mc. 



229 

Every vexing stealth 

Fortune maketli of my goods, 
Only bids me store my wealth 

Where no cunning thief intrudes. 

Every babe to dust 

Given, with reluctant pain, 
Is but my Redeemer's trust, 

Which he will restore again. 

Every pang that gnaws 

Fiercely, this poor frame of mine, 
If but sanctified, me draws 

Nearer to the bliss divine. 

Every little sand 

Loosened by this stormy strife, 
Minds me of a better land. 

And of an unreckoned life. 

Every living thing 

Or of teeming earth or flood, — 
Creeping, walking, on the wing — 

Is a teacher of my God. 

Every star that burns 

On night's diadem, 
If it thought to Jesus turns, 

Is a star of Bethlehem. 



330 



SELECT REMAINS OF THE REV 
WILLIAM NEVINS, D. D. 



ON READING THE ABOVE. 



Thou soul of God's best earthly mould ! 

Thou happy soul ! and can it be 

That these 

Are all that must remain of thee ? — Wordsworth. 

No ! — there are gems transcending far 
These glowing thoughts that stream and shine, 
Each like a sudden sparkling star 
Of radiance on this page of thine : 
Gems which I scan with fond delight, 
More precious deemed at each survey — 
Beautiful in affliction's night, 
Undimmed in pleasure's prosperous day. 

What are they ? — Worth, which well I knew, - 

Thy single, comprehensive heart, 

Open to the discerning few. 

In whose warm pulse mankind had part ; 

Thy gentle spirit, foe to strife, 

That graced thy manhood, as thy youth ; 

Thy suavity in private life, 

Thy public boldness for the truth ; 



231 

Thy piety and zeal for God, 
Humility, and holy care 
For souls ; submission to the rod. 
Denials, watchfulness and prayer : 
Thcsc^ though confessed thy wisdom, wit. 
And eloquence of purest powers. 
Are thy remains, where thou dost sit 
At Jesus' feet — may such be ours ! 



THOMAS GREENE FESSENDEN. 

Mount Auburn, as a miser, gathers wealth 
From the world's heap ; not artfully, by stealth. 
But shamelessly and open. Sits he now 
Alone, in winter's drapery, his brow 
Circled by solemn trees ; and contemplates 
His gains, and those to come with which the Fates 
Shall swell his hoard, already rich in store, 
We knew not how to part with. Yet one more 
Is added. Moral excellence and wit. 
Talents, not idly hid, worth that would sit 
Gracefully on a king, the crown adorning, — 
These have been stolen, this violence hath our mourn- 
ing. 
Yet, Plunderer ! there's hidden in thy womb 
Nought but the casket, which, at trump of doom. 
Thou, — saith the oracle of God — shalt render. 
The jewel lodged above ! — who'll tell its splendor .' 



233 



THE HARVEST IS GREAT — THE LA 
BORERS FEW. 

Vineyard of the Lord ! thy treasures 

Plenteous are to wondering sight : 
How the laden stalks are bending- 

With the grain, to harvest white ! 
Wide the field — the world can only 

Bound its precincts. Vast the prize ; — 
To express its value, ages 

Heaped on ages can't suffice. 

Who will enter ? — Laborers, toiling 

In the wasting heat of day, 
Are hxxifcio; and of these, hourly, 

Perish some along the way. 
Who will enter ? — Great the burden, 

Hard and constant is the toil ; 
But ye serve a gracious Master, 

And he'll give you princely spoil. 

Wake, oh, north wind ! on this garden, 

Fainting, dying, strongly blow ; 
Come, thou south ! and, gently breathing, 

Bid its spices freely flow. 
Then, his power confessed, the Spirit 

Hearts shall touch, and sweetly win ; — 
Vineyard ! now^ to reap thy liarvest. 

Joyful thousands enter in. 



233 



THOUGHTS. 

Oir, why should tliis poor world of ours 
Bewilder with its foolish schemes — 

Delight with its decaying flowers, 
And cheat me with its empty dreams ? 

Have I one object, and but one, 

That solely should the mind engross ? 

A war to wage — a race to run — 
The gold to sever from the dross — 

And, in this narrow inch of time, 
The work of mighty years to do ? 

'Mid these low thoughts, a theme sublime 
To ponder, ever vast and new ? — 

And but these few, fleet days of strife 

To gaze in retrospect upon. 
Through cycles of an endless life, 

While all its ages journey on ? 

Oh, wondrous God ! shall I be mad 
In the base struggle, or for gain, 

Or honor, pleasure, good and bad, 
To urge it with desire, insane ? 



234 

Or shall I change, as years increase, 
The ill that's past, for worse to come — 

Pursue with tears the phantom, peace, 
And overtake of wo the sum ? 

Nor pause upon my march one hour, 
My march that with the grave begins — 

And strive to snap, with frenzied power. 
The chain that binds me to my sins ? 

Upon the topmast sleeping yet. 
Whence down to depths I may be cast. 

Shall I dream on, and still forget 
The port which I must make at last ? 

Nor listen to the voice that w^eeps 
Above the storm, in hopeless pain ; 

Nor heed the wretches o'er whom sweeps 
The dark and melancholy main ? 

I'll pause, my weary soul, one hour ; 

For thee a new career begins ; 
I'll strive to snap, with frenzied power, 

The chain that binds me to my sins. 

This hour ! this hour ! Oh, no ; oh, no ; 

This hour eternity may be : 
This moment, blessed Lord, I go. 

From sin and sin's despair, to thee. 



235 



MILLENNIAL HYMN. 

Oh, God, to Thee, from whom so long 
This darkened world has strayed, inglorious. 

She comes, in brightness and in song. 

With crowns and harps for thee, victorious. 

From where flames up the morning sun, 

To where he floods the west with beauty, — 

From north to south, not one, not one 
Is silent in this hour of duty. 

Hear ! as on Africa's vast plains 

Her Sunday schools lisp songs, that gladly 
Go up, where once were stripes and chains. 

And fraud and gold that triumphed madly. 

Hear China's worship- wooing bells ! 

" Celestial" now — whose happy nation, 
By her delivered millions, tells 

That her proud wall is called " Salvation." 

And see ! the lovely isles that gem 
Old ocean's bosom, fair and vernal, 

Are jewels in the diadem 

That glory wreaths for the EternaL 



236 



The tree of life yields glad perfume, 

With fresh buds crowned, and choicest flowers ; 
Knowledge displays its living bloom, 

Where grace dispenses warmth and showers. 

Dove of the Lord ! Peace, brooding, sits 
Where fiercely flew the bird of glory ; 

And Waterloo and Austerlitz 
Live only in ignoble story. 

And, quenched the latent spark of rage, 

Hate adds no more to party fuel ; 
And realms are ruled, though statesmen wage 

No war of words, nor war with duel. 

And where so long the dreadful whip 

Of slavery scourged the flesh, red reeking, 

Are kindness, love, and manhood's lip. 
Of holy, heartfelt Freedom speaking. 

The heavens, in gladness, shout to Thee, 

And earth, in bondage lately lying, 
Rings back the cry, " We're free ! we're free ! 

Her vales, rocks, hills, and seas replying. 

Earth ! Earth ! to Christ, (his kingdom won,) 
In more than primal beauty given — 

Sound the high hymn ! for noio is done 
His will on earth, as done in heaven. 



237 



INSTALLATION. 

Who shall, with blessing, lift abroad 
His hand unto thy holy hill, — 
Be shepherd of thy chosen, Lord, 
And show these worshippers thy will ? 

He that uprightly walks, and works 
With single purpose, righteousness — 
In whose heart, look, or language, lurks 
Nor folly, pride, nor wickedness : 

He, nor presuming, rash, nor vain, 
Yet strong, because he always fears ; — 
He, that repulsed, will urge again 
For God, and warn and win with tears : 

He that will keep, with toil unpriced, 
His skirts from blood, and souls from loss, 
He that will nothing know save Christ, 
And the sweet science of the cross ; 

Gently, along this pleasant way, 
The aged of the flock shall lead ; 
And, lest the little lambs should stray, 
Will them by fountains guide and feed. 



238 

When the Chief Shepherd shall appear, 
He shall appear in glory, too ; 
And of his charge, watched over here. 
Show thousands, brought in safety through. 



AN EARLY DEATH 



Death 

The portal, opening into Paradise ; 

Where grace, that in the bud was here below, 

Into the flower of glory straigiit sliall blow. 

Francis Taylor; 1658. 

We may to our companion go. 
And strive to lessen anguish thus. 

While softened sorrows freely flow — 
But he will ne'er return to us. 

We may, recalling all the charms, 
And solid worth, that made him dear, 

Fold round his form affection's arms, 
And seem to hold the spirit here. 

But no — that spirit is away ; 

We only clasp insensate dust ; — 
That soars in uncreated day, 

This waits the rising of the just. 



239 

Here, now, at brief corruption's claim, 
How slumbers this without a care ; 

" On wheels of light, on wings of flame," 
How that, for aye, expatiates there ! 

And can it be, the cheek of bloom, 

Which spake of bliss, and days, and health. 

Is pillowed in the darksome tomb, 
To glut the worm's insatiate wealth ? 

And can it be, that eye of light 

Which flashed out boyhood's hope, is dim ? 
And shades of everlasting night 

Have lowered, and settled down on him ? 

And can it be, that dulcet voice. 

Which captive held Refinement's throng, 

And wakened tears, and bade rejoice. 
Reveals no more the soul of song ? 

We fondly ask, if all that gave 

To parents, friends, associates, joy. 

Can sink to an untimely grave ? 
Can such, Decay indeed destroy ? 

We ask, dear youth ! and from the sod 
Which covers all that late was fair. 

Turn to the dwelling-place of God, 
Thij home, and find an answer there. 



240 



THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 

I GAZED upon tlie mountain's top, 

That pierced in twain tlie passing cloud, 

And wondered at its giant form, 
So dark, magnificent, and proud. 

Can this strong mountain from its base 
Be sliaken by the tempest's shock .' 

Can all the gathered thunders, stir 
This everlasting, solid rock, — 

And scatter forth its dust, like hail .'' 
And fling its fragments on the air ? 

Can aught, created, wield such strength .-' 
Exists such power ? — Oh, tell me icherc ? 

They may remove, these mountains may 
Tremble, and hence for ever pass ; 

These hills, that pillar up the skies, 
Perish, as doth the new-mown grass. 

Yea, saith the Lord, they shall depart — 
The hills, and all the solid land ; 

But my sure word of truth remains, 
My promise shall for ever stand. 
July 27, 1839. 



241 



THE LEGACY. 

The following is the closing paragraph of Patrick Henry's will : 
" I have now disposed of all my property to my family ; there is 
one tiling more I wi.sh [ could give them, and that is the Christian 
religion. If they had thin, and I had not given them one shilling, 
they would he rirli ; and if they had not tliis, and I had given 
them all tiic world, they would he poor." 

He willed thorn lands, and tononionts, and gold, — 
All that lu! had by care; and cantion won, — 

To those his kinsmen, to enjoy and hold, 

Till tlioir predestined course, like his, was run ; 

And each to others should the same devise, 

Leaving for self the legend, " Here he lies." 

All that he had, save one unjmrchascd gem. 

Which, never loaned nor bought, could not be sold 

Nor willed away. Yet, though the diadem 
Of God were blank without it, 'tis not bold 

To say that waters, which the free winds kiss, 

Arc not more plentiful and free than this. 

All that he had, save that, the lord of which, 
Ragged and starved, by kings may envied be ; 

While he without it, though as Croesus rich. 
Is but the veriest heir of poverty ; 
16 



242 

And sad inheritor, tlian penury, worse, 

Of the undyiiiiif worm — eternity's true curse. 

All that he liad — My God ! what were it all, 
Wiiat thi' broad univers(> thou lashionedst well, 

To that, which, hell |)oss(>ssino-, hcU, w«>'d call 

llcdciu ; without which, heaven would he a hell? 

NothiM<>- ! and iuliuitely h>ss tiiau lunioht, — 

Without the treasure worlds have never bought. 

He could d(>vise lands, tenements, and gold, — 
All that he had by toil and talents won, — 

To those, his kinsmen, to enjoy and hold, 
Till their last sand of life was also run ; — 

lie could enrich them with earth's shining dust, 

And glut, to loathing, avaricious lust ; 

He could not give them the immortal gem, 
For which a man were wise to sell his soul ; 

Which burns and Hashes in God's diadem. 
This was beyond the orator's control ; — 

B(»yon(l, of wit and eloijuence, the power, 

To loan, or to retain a single hour. 

Yet th(>y may have it; — thou mayst have it ; — I 
May gather this into my hidden place ; 

Not to gloat o'er it, with delighted eye, 

And see it lessen ; — but, with added grace, 

To mark its glories, sparkling, blazing far, 

Inellably serene, a bright and blessed Star. 



243 



THE VOICE AT SEA. 

The missionaries write of a revival on i)oard the ship Charles 
Wharton, on her passage to India. 

The waves of passion may bo stayed where lordly 

billows toss, 
The journoyers of the deep may be the followers of 

the cross ; 
'Mid storms that strain his gallant ship, the mariner 

in faitli 
May hear what He who humbled once the surging 

waters saith. 

The Voice at Sea ! — the voice that wakes the sailor 

from liiH dream, — 
Is that which speaks in rushing Hoods, and in the 

gentle stream, 
And in the forest's harmony, when all its trees n^joice ; 
In cottages, in palaces, — it is the Spirit's voice ! 

Dost see yon vessel like a bird on ocean's wilderness .•* 
Oh, there go soino whose lofty looks are changed to 

lowliness : 
Upon them Love has shed its dews ; from Iwad to 

garment's hem 
They're batlu'd ; — old things arc past, — the Dovo 

has overshadowed them. 



244 



And stern-lipped men, who never quailed upon the 

yielding mast, 
Have feared their sin, and sought the few whose lot 

with Heaven is cast ; 
And mouths that left us with a curse — thou hear'st 

them as they pass — 
On Hoogly meekly learn to pray, and hail with hymn 

Madras ! 

Thou seest the Spanner of the deeps, who scoops the 

waves a bed. 
Looks where the lowly sailor weeps, and marks each 

tear that's shed ; 
And, unconfined to minster walls and carved and 

gilded fane. 
Bends o'er the hammock where he calls, and soothes 

the sinner's pain. 

Sweet to the troubled mariner, aloft on quivering 
shrouds. 

It is to look in confidence beyond the warring clouds. 

And know, when by deceitful winds, at starless mid- 
night driven. 

There shineth down upon his path the guiding ray of 
Heaven. 

And sweet to us that interchanged the lingering last 

farewell. 
Sustained by Him who chideth not when tides of 

sorrow swell — 



245 



To know that He went down with them that business 

do at sea, 
And in their noble vessel showed the power of Deity. 

And praise to Him whose presence cheered that mis- 
sionary ship, 

And wrought, with sure and silent power, such change 
of soul and lip ! 

Yea, praise to Thee ! the barks that speed thy sacra- 
mental host, 

Thou overshadowest in their need. Wing of the Holy 
Ghost ! 

And still'st the elemental strife, subduing every sin ; 
By Thee the sea restores to life the dead that were 

therein : 
In hearts of those that shun thy truth, the wayward 

and the strong. 
Thou putt'st its shining, searching edge, and in their 

mouth a song. 

Oh, parent ! whose unhappy child has left the peace 

of home. 
And left its dear and virtuous love, in distant ways 

to roam, — 
Be comforted ! and for him plead, though he has 

thoughtless trod, 
And long been lost, this hour he may be found at 

last of God. 



246 



In watches of the night, when hushed are winds and 

sleeps the wave, 
His thought may homeward turn, to rest upon a 

father's grave ; 
Or on the countenance of her that led his step above 
In youth, and on remembered words dropt by a 

mother's love. 

In pauses of the northern storm a Voice may come 

with power. 
And meet him in the tropic breeze at evening's quiet 

hour ; 
Oh, who can shun His presence, who may from the 

Spirit, flee ? 
For omnipresent. Lord ! thou art, and in thy hands 

are we. 



PROGRESS OF TEMPERANCE. 

Hail, Temperance ! to aid thee, the foe to expel, 
The age is advancing ; — thy advocates well 
Have won good opinions in showing the plan, 
The how and the ichy of a cold water man ; 
And proved it as plain as that twice three are six, 
The old pledge was one of old Alcohol's tricks, 



247 



Who knew that his slaves he could keep in his track, 
Though shunning prime Hollands, and best Cogniac, 
If beer, porter, cider, or ale, they might guzzle ; 
Ay, keep them as sure as an ox in the muzzle, 
Whatever they signed, if with these in their book, 
His victims were certain, by hook or by crook. 
And proved, too, to ample and clear demonstration, 
The only chance left to deliver our nation. 
The only chance left for a world steeped in drink, 
Was to battle the enemy ; yes ! from the brink 
Of ruin, dishonor, and close-cleaving shame, 
By one mighty struggle to rescue her fame. 
By one mighty struggle, the victory gaining, — 
" From all that intoxicates" wholly abstaining. 
From the north and the south, the east and the west, 
A phalanx is moving, the battle to breast. 
All ranks, all degrees, from the laborer, up 
To the president, all who were slaves to the cup ; 
And those, only moderate — most dangerous of all — 
With hearty concurrence, reply to the call. 
The lawyers are coming ! their Blackstone and Coke 
To pore o'er with brandy 's no longer a joke. 
The mysteries of entail and feoff, they divine. 
May be solved, and that justly, in absence of wine. 
They own truth's indictment is guiltless of flaws. 
And bring special pleading in aid of the cause. 
The doctors, whose consummate kindness and skill 
Are feelingly known in the blister and pill — 
Have freely surrendered, than sickness, as worse. 
The rum, with the remedy, mixed by the nurse ; 



248 



And e'en are excusing the babe on the lap 

From swallowing the poison, disguised in the pap. 

The clergy most nobly are leading the van 

To onset for all that is dearest to man ; 

They've sought out the foe, and are following with 

skill 
The tortuous trail of the Worm of the Still : 
Convinced, though the monster be not the real devil, 
His deeds show the imp of the father of evil. 
The ladies, whose smiles are the balsam of life. 
Have come to the rescue ! — the maiden and wife 
And matron have frowns for the fool who has lost 
The pearl of his honor, nor valued the cost. 
Hail, Temperance ! that asks, though at war, for no 

banners 
Of glory, no poet to hymn her hosannas, — 
Ovation of triumph, nor conqueror's crown — 
Far higher, far prouder, whose looked for renown ! 
To dry up the tear on the beggared one's cheek, 
To soothe the distresses no language can speak. 
To lighten the bosom whose abject despair 
Was too much for woman, wife, mother, to bear ; 
To bring back the husband, all foul with the stain, 
To purity, peace, home and virtue again; 
A man to his fellow, — yea, mind to restore — 
Abused and down-trodden, to reason once more. 
All this — it is much ! her determinate aim ; 
Tee-totaller christened, and proud of the name — . 
She goes on from conquering to conquer, for yet 
There's fight, ere the bale-star. Intemperance, is set. 



249 



PENITENCE AND PRAYER. 

Oh, behold me right, 
And take compassion on my grievous plight: 
What odor can be, than a heart contrite, 

To thee more sweet ? 

Ben Jonson, 1595. 

Now I bend the heart and knee, 
Now will I confess to Thee ! 
Oh, God of purity, the base 
In thought can never see thy face. 
The spotless lustre of the skies 
Is viewed not by adulterous eyes ; 
The sensual wish, the low desire 
May never to thy courts aspire ; 
How can the bosom that's impure. 
Thy awful scrutiny endure ? 

If thy sweet heavens are unclean, 
And starry seraphim are seen 
Glittering in folly, when with Thee 
Compared, what in thy sight are we ! 
Rather, I ask, and what am I, — 
Too vile to live, too vile to die, — 
Whose every thought is steeped in sin. 
Who have thine enemy within ; 
Who drink up guilt like water, who 
Wander, and love to wander too ! 

I do beseech Thee, check this fire 
That burns to lowest hell ; inspire 



250 

My heart, — if I thy love have known, — 

Once more with love : make me thine own. 

Let not the adversary sift 

My soul as wheat ; but do thou lift 

My feet from out tlie horrid clay, 

And set me in the narrow way, 

Safe on tlie Rock of Ages. Then, 

Thy grace I'll sliow to erring men ; 

And sinners, taught to hope by me, 

The chiefl'st, will return to Thee. 



MUCH FORGIVEN, LOVING MUCH 

If he loves much to whom is most 
Of grievous sin by tlico forgiven, — 

Oil, God, of all the holy host 

From earth redeemed, who sing in heaven. 

None can my love to tliee excel. 

For none deserves, so richly, hell. 

Yet if my debt to thee I count, 

By all tlie love that fires me here, — 

So worthless is the summed amount, 
So mixed with unbelief and fear. 

That from sweet obligation free 

I'd nothing owe, my Lord, to thee. 



251 



CHILDREN ARE BLESSED FOR TPIE 
PARENTS' SAKE. 

To saved ones that dwell in the bowers of heaven, 
Where smiles are not dimmed by the frequent tear, 
With bliss that's unfading, for ever is given 
Freedom from fears which preyed on them here. 
Earth past — they, unheeding its laugh or its care, 
Joy not in its joys, sorrow not for its wo, — 
Ever soaring and singing, the gloritied there 
Never notice the weary or weeper below. 

Yet when the happy in brightness is kneeling 
To Him who maketh the darkness his seat, — 
And love and humility sweetly revealing. 
Is casting the crown at Immanuel's feet — 
Though he museth not there on the one he has left 
In sin to mourn, in the flesh to stay, — 
The child, of a friend, a father bereft. 
Wandering alone in the perilous way, — 

Think ye not, then, the eye that ne'er sleepeth, 
Is resting in kindness and care on that son ? 
That God, who the seed of the righteous keepeth, 
Guards, and will guard him, till toiling is done ? 
Oh, surely, the sighs and prayers of the good 
For children, are heard in their confident trust ; 
Heaven answers as no parent could. 
When lips that breathed them are sealed in dust. 



252 



WHO GAZES FROM MOUNT 
OLIVET? 

Who gazes from Mount Olivet, 

His dove-like eyes with sorrow wet — 

His bosom with compassion heaving, 

His mighty heart with anguish grieving ? 

Who searches with unerring eye 

Into thy sad futurity, 

Jerusalem ! and sees thy doom 

Written by imperial Rome ; — 

Famine, Slaughter, Fire, agreed 

On thy precious ones to feed. 

Ruin round thy bulwarks wrap, 

And the pagan eagle flap 

O'er the sacred mercy seat ? 

Who is he that sees it all ? 

Sees, when sacrilegious feet 

Tread on Zion — when the call 

Is for vengeance most complete ? 

He, the prophet, pilgrim-shod ; 

He, the very son of God ! 

Years sweep on ; — Jerusalem ! 
Thee the Roman armies hem. 
Countless legions on thee press ; 
Clouds of arrows thee distress ; 
Stone and dart and javelin 
Entrance to thy treasures win. 



253 

Hippicus, Antonia, fall, 

Mariamne — and thy wall 

Pierced with gates of burnished gold- 

And the holy house of old, 

Yield unto the dreadful strife. 

Heavens ! the sacrifice of life ! 

Murder, plunder, leagued in band. 

Stalk amid thee, hand in hand ; — 

Cedron is a pool of gore, 

Olivet is fortress made. 

Mercy ! that the towers of yore 

Courts that saw the world adore. 

Should in dust and blood be laid ! 

Who directs the furious war ? 

He, alone, whose prescience saw — 

Mightier than Vespasian's son — 

He the ruthless fight has won, 

He the wine-press here has trod, 

He, the very son of God ! 



THE CHANGE. 

Come to the aged dead, and see 
How on that tranquil brow 
And placid cheek, the impress lies 
Of glorious Childhood now ! 



254 

'Tis something, not of noon's full beam, 
Nor sunset's chastened ray, — 
But like sweet morning, ere it melts 
Into the gush of day. 

We saw him in his lusty prime ; 
'Twas sadly ours to scan 
The lineaments, which strongly spelt 
The stricken, troubled man. 

How stern that brow of dark-winged years ! 
How eloquent that cheek, 
And eye, chastised, which ever seemed 
Of hopes, all quenched, to speak ! 

We saw him in the wasting hour, 
When strife its work had done ; 
And sharp disease and eager pain 
Their victory had won. 

Their victory, in which themselves 
Found unretrieved defeat ; 
Ho, Death ! thou art a victim, slain 
Beneath thy victim's feet. 

Come to the dead, — how changed is he ! 
The same — thou needest not fear ; 
Sickness and grief, and years are gone, 
'Tis life's first freshness here. 



255 

The deep-writ characters of time, 
The weary words of age, 
We read not now ; we fondly dwell 
On Infancy's sweet page. 

A blessed thought, that love's last look 
Is pictured on the heart 
So faithfully, that with it love 
Would willingly not part. 

And Death ! a mighty power is thine 
To blot all present pain, 
And with thy cold and gentle touch 
To bring the past again. 



ORGANIZATION OF THE FIRST CONGRE- 
GATIONAL CHURCH, PHILADELPHIA. 

For conscience bold, our sires of old, — 
A heaven-devoted flock, — 
Tempting the waves, by Him who saves. 
Were led to Plymouth rock. 

Stern Winter's sway held shore and bay, 
What time they pitched their tent ; 
And ere Spring's bloom, unto the tomb 
Their flower of manhood went. 



256 

Want hedged their path ; the red man's wrath, 
And sickness, too, they met, 
And griefs ; yet, God ! the way they trod, 
Thy mercy did beset. 

Two hundred years ! — those precious tears 
And watchings, want and pain. 
Hid in that field, now freely yield 
A thousand fold again. 

Oh, Sire of Grace ! we of their race, 
To whom their deeds are known, — 
Our hopes fulfilled, this church do build 
On Jesus Christ alone. 

Thy help our stay, be ours the way, 
Those ancient fathers trod ; 
Our zeal like theirs, our toil and prayers. 
And ours the Pilgrims' God ! 



THE OMEN. 

A DARK cloud sailed along the sky. 
Charged with the thunder and the rain 
Slowly it sailed along, and I 
Gazed on the traveller with pain. 



257 

Now rising — seeming now to dip, 
Proudly, withal, and wondrous fair — 
It passed, like some majestic ship, 
Along the buoyant paths of air. 

I often have beheld the clouds, 

In solemn pageant, sweep along. 

And gazed, where God himself enshrouds, 

And listened to the tempest's song. 

But this one was so dread to see, 
I looked and shuddered — looked and sighed,- 
Yet deemed not grief so near to me j — 
That very night my sweet babe died. 



MYSELF. 

Less than the least 
Of all God's mercies, is my poesy still. — George Herbert. 

Great are thy gifts, my God, vouchsafed to me, 
Who am unworthy of the least from thee. 
Recipient am I of a gracious store 
Of good : — health, reason, food and friends, and more 
Of comfort, than to many may befal ; — 
Yet these were poor, Great Giver ! were these all. 
I have much more ; — for me, reversion is, 
I humbly trust, of joys, to which earth's bliss 
17 



258 



Is abject misery, and her hope, despair. 
Yet, though the creature of thy constant care, 
Ennobled, raised, yea, soon to be a prince, 
I am, and ever must be lowly, since, 
Of all thy mercies, I, indeed, am least. 
And most unthankful, as thou daily scest. 
While some contend for Paul, Apollos some, 
I will contend, in sooth, that none can come 
Into thy kingdom. Lord ! a greater debtor 
To Mercy, than myself; though many better; 
Yet louder song than theirs be mine above. 
Who owe, and gladly owe, so much to Sovereign 
Love. 



THE INDIFFERENT. 

I SAW a man who had sojourned where 
The Saviour once did tabernacle. He 
Familiar was with Bethlehem, Nazareth ; knew 
The very site of Jacob's well ; had talked 
Where Jesus talked, — was intimate with all 
The scene of his sad story. Yea, had dwelt 
Hard by the Garden ; and his daily course 
Had taken o'er the soil of Calvary ; 
And yet he gaily spake of these ; and smiled, 
And smoothed his chin ; and twisted in his hair 
His dainty fingers, as with nonchalance 
He took upon his lips these sacred names ; 
And then I thought a man might ransack heaven. 
Yet, Gallio like, care not for all these things. 



259 



BROOKLINE. 

I HAVE revisited thy sylvan scenes, 

Brookline ! in this the summer of my day. 

Again have revelled in thy lovely vales, 

And feasted vision on thy glorious hills ; 

As once I revelled, feasted, in the spring 

Of careless, happy boyhood. And I've bowed 

Again within thy temple, and have heard, 

As though Time's footfall had these years been 

hushed — 
Thy patriarch pastor's lips, like dew, distil 
Gentle instruction. And the same is he, 
As to young love and reverence he was — 
My cheerful friend, benevolent and good. 
The same thy hills and dells, those skies the same. 
Of rich October ; such as only bend 
Over New England ; and the same gray walls, 
Reared in New England's infancy, are those,* 
Which charmed imagination. Thou art fair, 
And beautiful as ever. Fancy deems 
Thy sweet retreat excused the common doom 
Caused by the fall ; as if the Architect 
Were willing, by such specimen, to show 
What Eden in its primal beauty v/as. 

* The Aspinwall House, (as seen in tiie vignette,) built in 1660 ; 
now owned by Colonel Thomas Aspinwall, Consul at L.)ndon, 
in which his great-grandfather was born. The elm near it is 
about one hundred and forty years old, and at three feet from ita 
roots is twenty feet in circumference. 



260 



And yet there is a change, unseen, though felt. 
'Tis in myself. I gaze not, with the heart 
Freely given up, as once I gave it up. 
Nor questioned why. Years have stept in between 
Its warm idolatry, and what it worshipped. 

'Tis well that change on all things is inscribed ; 
Else to such charms as thine, its simple love 
Would be too strongly wed, and I forget 
That thou, in thy glad splendor, wilt rejoice, 
And send up beauty's all-perpetual hymn, — 
In eloquence how true ! — in future years, 
(As thou dost now rejoice) — but not for me ! 



THE DEVOTED. 

Oh, blest is he who cares 

That God have glory given ; 
Whose faith, and alms, and toils, and prayers, 

Are leading souls to heaven. 

And greatly blest is he 

Who labors, prays, and weeps. 
That Christ may of his travail sec 

Beyond the distant deeps. 

Such, entering into rest. 

The Chinese, saved, shall own ; 
The Hindoo, there, will hail him blessed, 

And children of Ceylon. 



261 



ALL NIGHT IN PRAYER. 

And it came to pass, in those days, that he went out into a 
mouutain to pray, and continued all night in prayer to God. 

Luke vi. 12. 

All night in prayer, while mortals slept 
The Saviour woke on bended knee, 
And in the mountain vigils kept 
Of sighs and tears, my soul, for thee. 

Night spread her starry wing around 
His head, that drooped for human wo, 
And hastening angels sought the ground, 
Wondering to see their Maker so. 

He prayed — yet not in view of all 
The griefs his prescience understood, — 
The stripes, the spear, the nails, the gall, 
The crown of thorns, the cross of wood. 

No, nor in view of that dark hour 
When God from him should turn his eye, 
And hell's permitted final power 
Should triumph, when it saw him die. 

But sight of sin and sin's desert 
Prest down his soul, and sight of men 
Wounded to death, and to their hurt 
Rejecting Gilead, grieved him then. 



262 

Oh, Saviour ! in Judea prayer 
Not now is breathed from lips of thine ; 
That mountain is the robber's lair, 
Its clefts reveal the Moslem's shrine. 

Yet thou art here ! — this closet folds 
Not shadow, but the form I love ; 
The same who, interceding, holds 
My wants before the throne above. 

All night in prayer ! — my joyful sense 
Would fain thus spend the wakeful night ; 
Yet oh, where Thou art, darkness thence 
Flies, and with me 'tis more than light ! 



THE FACE OF DEATH. 

What a spiritual expression 
Death doth ever wear ! 

'Tis as if its own impression 
Heaven write th there. 

Something of eternity 

In that fixed face you see. 

Or, as if the soaring spirit, 

Leaving dust alone — 
Ere she mounted, lingering, gave it 

Image of her own ; 



263 

Setting solemn seal on earth, 
Known again at glorious birth. 

Listen, mother ! — by this token 

Joy shall follow pain ; 
Ties shall be renewed, now broken, 

He shall live again ! 
How thy beauteous boy will shine 
With a countenance divine ! 



TALLEYRAND. 

He ministered in vestments once, where blazed the 

shrines of prayer, 
And meekly he of Autun knelt, a mitred prelate there. 
His meteor-path pursuing he crossed Gallia's ruler 

then. 
And on war's troubled sky he burned, admired and 

feared of men. 

The world was shaken, as in play, its realms like dice 

o'erthrown, — 
High over all he laughed in scorn, the game was still 

his own. 
Untiring revolution's wheel rolled on and still it found. 
So fate decreed — his courtier-feet upon the topmost 
round. 



264 



Thus on, till death; — ambition's star of brilliance 

then was dim, — 
Earth's gauds are gay, yet what are they at such an 

hour to him ! 
Haste I bring the curate ! say the mass, be holy 

unction given ; 
Give gold ! so may the shriven pass from sinful earth 

to heaven. 

Oh, wondrous statesman ! well I learn from thee the 

lesson high, 
Though living men may scoff at hope, they clutch it 

when they die. 
And though through folly's foreign way the exile 

gaily past, 
He turned from all in weariness, and sought his home 

at last. 



THE SUNDAY SCHOOL. 

Behold the groups that gather there ! 
Children within the place of prayer. 
Think of the future harvest's power, 
Whose seed is planted in this hour, — 
The Bible, Library-book, the word 
Of love, by which the heart is stirred ; 



265 

The many precepts, kindly given, 

The many hopes that dews of heaven 

May fall, refreshing, on the soil. 

And crown, with large increase, the toil. 

Think of the mass of mind thus trained. 

And say, is not a victory gained 

O'er error, bigotry, and sin ? 

With arms like these^ shall we not win ? 

Think, too, of those who, from their class, 

As pupils, have been called to pass 

To higher seats, where Wisdom dwells, — 

To pastures, where the cool, deep wells 

Of living waters gush, and He, 

The Shepherd, dwells eternally ! 



THE SACRAMENTS. 

But shall they be my God ? or shall I have 
Of them so foul and impious a thought, 
To think that from the curse they can me save 1 
Bread, wine, nor water, me no ransom brought, 

John Bunyan. 

I BRING unto the Font, with holy feeling, 

My blossom, sweet, and yet defiled ; 

And crave the sign, which Love is here revealing. 

To seal, for aye, my child. 



il66 

Yet cannot deem these pure innocuous waters, 
Sprinkled on the appealing face — 
Can ever give to Adam's sons or daughters 
Restoring life and grace. 

I do approach with awe and sacred pleasure, 

The Feast of origin divine — 

And here, though poor, do touch all glorious treasure, 

Handling the bread and wine. 

Yet cannot think the Eucharist is food 

To satisfy the starving mind 

That feeds on sin. Here, if my sin intrude, 

My Lord I may not find. 



VERSES 

WRITTEN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF A CHURCH PUBLICATION. 

If drums and bells and proud parade 
Announce to heaven a nation's day, 
And stars and stripes are all displayed 
For her, released from Britain's sway — 
May ice not sing of victories gained, 
By sovereign grace o'er sense and sin, — 
Of wreaths and realms, by Him obtained. 
Who wins alone, and still shall win .'' 



267 

On fashion's page, behold ! how blaze 
The gems of love, the wit of youth, — 
And may not here concentrate rays. 
Which freely flash from diamond truth ! 
While Poetry her wing doth dip 
In other than Siloa's dews. 
Shall here the joyful heart and lip 
The song of gratitude refuse ? 

True — on our scroll, undying names 

Of royal robbers may not shine ; — 

The garland which ambition claims, 

To crown its crimes, we may not twine ; — 

True, while their clarions sounded on 

And men admired, we did not cease 

To shout the deeds " Good will " hath done, 

To chant the angels' chorus, " Peace ! " — 

Yet, loeWe approved; — and when, like dreams, 
Earth's gauds and gold are swept away. 
And battle's harp is hushed, our themes 
Shall live on lyres which God will play. 
Here pauseth then, the Church, to raise 
Her Ebenezer high, and sing 
Of all the strait and thorny ways 
Through which she's journeyed to her King. 

She presses on I — though clouds descend 
And sometimes veil her Pisgah now. 
Yet strong in ancient Israel's friend, 
Her feet shall find its topmost brow. 



268 

Remembrance of the gall drank up, 
And bitter herbs that earth hath given, 
She knows will sweeter spice the cup 
That crowns the bridal board of heaven. 

Grace, Grace, aright to prompt the pen ! 
Grace, skilful Grace ! aright to show 
How best may reach the hearts of men, 
The polished shaft from Wisdom's bow. 
And pen and press, and tongue and powers, 
Impartial, true, and firm and free — 
Thy gifts, oh, God ! — both we and ours 
Will consecrate again to thee. 



THE ISRAELITE'S PRAYER. 

No hallowed oils, no grains I need, 
No rags of saints, no purging fire. 

Sir Henry Wotton, 1568. 

Oh, Lord ! at thy throne, a poor Israelite, kneeling, 
In lowliness, comes with a prayer to thee now ', 
With confidence, yet in emotion, revealing 
The reverence that awes, as he ventures to bow. 
Yet how shall he come ^ for the cherubims' token 
Is faded that waved once o'er Mercy's bright seat ; 
By Urim and Thummim thy will is not spoken, 
And darkness is where burned, Shechinali ! thy feet. 



269 

No longer may he, on Samaria's mountain, 
Bow down, nor to Zion of David repair ; 
Siloa flows sweetly, yet songs by that fountain 
Ascend not to thee, nor from Olivet prayer, — 
Oh, Thou ! that didst bring out thy chosen in power 
From Pharaoh, what boots it thou humbledst his pride ? 
For we, the delivered, are whelmed at this hour 
As deep as his horsemen that sank in the tide. 

Forgive, oh, thou Just One ! — our fathers in folly. 
Forsaking thy service, to idols did turn. 
And under the green tree, the myrtle and holly, 
On high places incense to Baal did burn ; * 
And thou didst reject them, and judgment succeeding 
To judgment, gave sign of the wrath of the Lord, — 
Their valiant men routed, their heritage bleeding, t 
Thou wentest no longer with buckler and sword. 
And now we are peeled, and a jest to the nations, 
And scattered among them as leaves that are sere ; 
With ashes are mingled our bitter oblations. 
The cup of our trembling is dashed with a tear. 
Yet think upon Abraham ! — the oath that unto him 
Thou swear'st by thy greatness, none other so high, 
And think on the seed that by faith thou didst show him, 
As countless as stars on the Syrian sky. t 

* We acknowledge, oh, Lord, our wickedness, and the iniquity 
of our fathers. — Jcr. xiv. 20. 

t I have forsaken my house, I have left my heritage — they 
have made it desolate. — Jcr. xii. 7, ]1. 

X And he brou^iit him forth abroad, and said. Look now toward 
heaven, and tell the stars if thou be able to number them j and 
he said unto him. So shall thy seed be. — Oen. xv. 5. 



270 



That oath is unbroken ! that covenant never 
Could perish, though Thee have thy people forgot ; 
That seed is uncounted — by kingdoms wherever 
Did families cluster, and Israel not ? 
Thy Zion, though homeless and humbled, is written, 
Thou graciously saidst, in remembrance above ; 
Her walls are before thee,* and now that she's smitten. 
She turns to her Maker, and sues for his love. 
Then oh, of her thousands, if here is one trusting 
In Thee, that would come in contrition alone. 
Wilt thou not accept him, and heal the heart bursting 
With grief for its guilt, by a glance from the throne ! 
I search for the Prince of mysterious story, — 
I gaze on the garden, the manger and tree, — 
The tomb of his victory — I find there his glory, 
But Him in the mercy that looks upon me ! 



FOR MOBILE. 

Boston ! that sittest in thy pride, 

A very queen — 
Whose arms to the afilicted, wide 

Open are seen ; 
Who never, on thy noble throne. 

By Commerce built — 
Didst close thy ears to Misery's moan, 

And never wilt — 

* Hehold I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands j tliy 
walls are continually before me. — Isaiah xlix. IC. 



271 

Where art thou, while the dreadful cries 

Of houseless hundreds ring ? 
Where art thou, while the bitter sighs, 

The Southern breezes bring. 
Of those who draw the panting breath. 

Whose home, the flames 
Have swept away, whose bodies, Death 

Eagerly claims ? 

Hast thou not heard that yonder mart. 

Whose thousand ships 
Find mighty Trade's remotest heart, 

Wherever dips 
The needle, hath the element 

Laid waste ? 
That death hath noonday arrows spent, 

With fearful liaste. 
Among her proudest, loveliest ? — 

On his pale steed 
How sate the rider ! Now do rest 

Where worms shall feed, 
Her children, on whom yester's sun 

Did gaily shine — 
To pleasure, love, and life's joys won, 

Freely as thine ! 

Think I — they are of thy flesh and bone, 

Blood of thy blood ; 
They kneel with thee at Freedom's throne. 

They worship God ; 
Thy wandering sons and daughters they. 

With generous heat 



272 

For their loved mother in the North, away, 

Their pulses bcatj 
And never would their hearts be lapped 

In selfish ease, 
Did fires thy fair possessions wrap, 

Thy sons, disease. 
By dear humanity's sweet claim, 

By pity's gem — 
By pride, ambition, yea, by shame. 

Look thou to them ! 1839. 



THE FURNITURE. 

So near our cradles to our coffins are. — Drummond of Ilawlkornden. 

Two items make, of furniture, our store. 

And choicest luxury need crave no more. 

They're ample for the rich ; of them possessed, 

Is poverty with full abundance blest. 

The Cradle, where is rocked our earliest cry, 

The Coffin, where is hushed our latest sigh ; 

And all between is superfluity, 

Unworthy, mortal, such regards of thee. 

Fix, then, thine eye on these, and let thy heart 

Seek for its furniture the better part. 

Such as the wiser Mary chose ; nor let 

Inferior things thy noble spirit fret. 

Thus on — till thou and I possess the land 

Whose palaces are decked by God's own hand. 



273 



CHRISTIAN WARS 



A Turk, at Jerusalem, once said to Mr. WolfT, the missionary, 
" Why do you come to us .' " The missionary replied, " To bring 
you peace." "Peace ! " replied the Turk, leading Mr. Wolff to a 
window, and pointing him to Calvary, " there, upon the very 
spot where your Lord puurcd out his blood, the Mohammedan is 
obliged to interfere, to prevent Christians from shedding the blood 
of each other." 



The angels' song, that happy night 
When spirits stooped to mortal ken, 

Warbled from lips and lyres of light, 
Was, Peace on earth, good will to men. 

In Peace, the sages came, and paid 

Their meed of gold and spice and myrrh ; 

And why such bliss on Mary laid ? — 
She felt that Peace had come to her. 

Peace was the theme, when precepts dropt 
From Jesus' lips, like his own dew : 

Who oped their eyes ? Who ears unstopt .'' 
His name was Peace — 'twas all they knew. 
18 



274 

The word that lingered on his tongue, 

When sighs and suffering soon should cease, 

And Jesse's Root be rudely flung 
As a vile weed away, was Peace. 

'Twas " Peace," that sweetly soothed the fear 
Of those who mourned their Master slain : 

With Peace their weapon, far and near, 
They won the lands to him again. 

Peace is inscribed on that broad scroll 
The angel bears, whom Saint John saw : 

Joy to all realms where pines a soul, 
And to the isles, Jehovah's law ! 

And yet, oh, God ! the Christian's wrath. 
Through all her seas, through all her zones. 

Has in Earth's bosom hewed a path 

That's whitened with her children's bones. 

In thy Son's name the sword drinks blood ; 

In thy Son's name, since first his Star 
Spake Peace, has surged the angry flood 

Of never-ebbing, whelming war. 

Drop, Christendom ! thy boasted name, 
And let the humble take it — those 

Who fear, in spite of taunt and shame, 
To count their Christian fellows foes- 



275 



THE INTERCESSION. 

" Well," said Mr. Raikes, " you will be ruined and lost, if 
you do not begin to bt^ a good girl ; and if you will not humble 
yourself, I must humble myself, and make a beginning for you." 
He then kneeled down before the child's mother, and putting 
his hands together, like a penitent offender, asked her forgive- 
ness. 

She, in whose bosom no reproof 

Wakes grief, nor chastening kindles fears ; 

Who, in defiance, stands aloof 

From counsel, kindness, prayers, and tears — i 

Deep penitence is taught to feel ; 
For pardon willingly to sue, 
When meek philanthropy and zeal 
Wrought what a mother failed to do. 

Peace is restored ; and he whose love 
Thus spake this troubled household whole, 
Feels the rich peace of Heaven above 
Pass like a river o'er his soul. 

So shall it be with him, whose care 
Is to the weak and wandering shown ; 
The cruse, thus emptied for their share, 
Returns, unmeasured, for his own, 



276 

Oh, on this world of sickly strife, 

So much unlike its primal bloom — 

That licalthfiil gales of love and life 

Might blow and chase sin's death and gloom ! 



THE GRAVE OF PAYSON. 

In the burial ground at Portland are three monuments erected, 
to commemorate the achievements of naval luMoes wlio fell in 
the battles of tlieir country. There is also a plain, neat obelisk, 
with the name, and dat(!S of the birtii, ministry and death of the 
late lamented Pavson, to which is added tlie touching line, " His 
record is on hiffli.^^ A late visit to this interesting spot, occa- 
sioned the following lines. 

I STOOD, in silence and alone, 

Just at tlie Sabbath shut of day, 
Where, quietly, the modest stone 

Told me that Payson's relics lay. 
No gorgeous tale, nor herald's arms. 

Astonished with their splendid lie. 
Or hireling praise ; — in truth's meek charms 

It said, " His record is on high." 

I gazed around the burial spot 

That looks on Portland's spires below, 

And on her thousands who are not. 
Did sad yet useful thought bestow : — 



277 

Here sleep they till the trumpet's tongue 
Shall peal along a blazing sky ; 

Yet who of these — the old and young — 
May read his record then on high ! 

And near, I saw the early grave 

Of him who fought at Tripoli ; 
Who would not live, the Moslem's slave, 

Who fell, a martyr with the free. 
And, wrapt in freedom's starry flag, 

The chief who dared to " do or die ; " 
And England's son, who could not lag — 

Whose deeds his country wrote on high. 

What glory lit their spirit's track, 

When from the gory deck they flew ! 
Could wishes woo the heroes back ? 

Say, did not fame their path pursue ? 
Oh, gently sleep the youthful brave 

Who fall where martial clarions cry — 
The men, entombed in earth or wave, 

Whose blood-writ record is on high ! 

I turned again to Payson's clay, 

And recollected, well, how bright 
The radiance, far outshining day, 

That robed his soaring soul in light. 
What music stole awhile from heaven, 

To charm away his parting sigh ! 
What wings to waft him home were given, 

Whose holy record was on high ! 



278 

And give me — trembling, said I then — 

Some place, my Saviour, where such dwell ; 
And far above the pride of men, 

And pomp of which the worldlings tell, 
Will be my lot. Come, haughty kings ! 

And ye who pass in glitter by, 
And feel that ye are abject things, 

Whose record is not found on high. 



THE LOST. 

Some years since, I was present at the Sansom street Baptist 
church, f'hiladelphia, when the Lord's Supper was dispensed. 
During the administration of the service, and while the pastor, 
Rev. Dr. Staughton, was in tlie midst of a powerful appeal to the 
unawakened, the bellman was heard in the street. The minis- 
ter paused, as the description of a youthful fugitive was given in 
clear tones by the crier, and then, seizing the thought, he ex- 
claimed, " A child is lost ! a child is lost ! What if some attending 
angel, witnessing this solemn communion season, and wonder- 
ing at the rejection of tiie Saviour by the sinner, should now give 
audible testimony of his astonishment and grief, and beholding 
some sinner here, making, in sight of the Cross, his final election 

for a hopeless eternity, should startle us with the cry 4 soul is 

lost ! a soul is lost ! " 

Why on our holy service steals 

Alarum of the bell .' 
^ child is lost ! — that cry reveals 

The agony too well. 



279 

A child is lost ! and with the blow 
A father's heart is stirred ; 

The mother — who may scan her wo, 
Felt, but unknown to word ! 

A child is lost ! and ready feet 

To seek and save are out ; 
And lane and court and crowded street 

Are searched with call and shout. 
The generous toil is not in vain ; 

Success succeeds alarms — 
The little fugitive again 

Has blest its mother's arms. 

And for this wanderer speechless fears 

Were felt, that mocked control ; 
And for its loss fell heavy tears, — 

What if it were a soul ! 
A soul, for whom no larum rings. 

Kind rescuing to call ; — 
For whose redemption never springs 

Hope, that yet comes to all ! 

Oh, smote but now, the startled ear, 

As smites that warning bell. 
One note of the despairing fear 

That fills the vault of hell — 
To seek, who would not quickly fly? 

What realms would not be crossed .'' 
Urged by the lamentable cry, 

A soulj a soul is lost ! 



230 



THE ANGEL'S WING. 

There is a German tradition that when a sudden silence takes 
place in a company, an angel at that moment makes a circuit 
among them, and the first person who breaks the silence is sup- 
posed to have been touched by the wing of the passing seraph. 

I. 

And why should wisdom smile at this ? 

Are not those perfect beings nigh 
To witness and to share our bliss, 

To hear and hush the secret sigh ? 
Yes, they may Heaven's solace bring, 
Then scorn not thou, the Angel's Wing ! 

II. 
Thou ! who alone, thyself dost deem, 

A solitary in thy grief, — 
List ! soft as footfall of a dream. 

Comes one to bear thee sweet relief j 
And fled is all thy hoarded care. 
The passing Seraph's Wing is there ! 

III. 

Thou, who, forgiven, dost possess 

The penitent's intense delight. 
When the dark cloud of guilt's distress 

Reveals to thee its edge of light, — 



281 

Think ! as unhallowed tempests fly, 
Thy soul is touched, the Wing is nigh ! 

IV. 

And thou, of contemplative mood, 
Who dost at eve in wild woods stray, 

Where nought of this world may intrude, 
Where fancy might in others play. 

And hearest the voice which zephyr flings — 

No ! 'tis the rush of Angel Wings. 

V. 

Oh, I have paused a space, as 'twere. 
Bewildering thoughts to gather up, — 

To put aside the draught of care 
And taste of mind's exalted cup ; 

Nor knew what o'er my soul could bring 

Such calmness was the Seraph's Wing. 

VI. 

When brooding tempters caused me shame, 

And in its company of sin 
My spirit sate — the Angel came, 

And swept with Wings the heart within. 
A moment made its circuit there, 
And broke my silence into prayer. 

VII. 

I knelt beside my precious boy, 

Who went at childhood's fairy time, 

My hope, my life, my being's joy — 
From this to Love's unclouded clime ; 



282 

And while around wept pitying men, 
I joyed — the Angel touched me then ! 

VIII. 

And oh, when at my own last hour 
The world recedes and follies fly, 

That near me with supporting power 
Might plume some herald of the sky- 

And while of victory I sing. 

Bear me away on upward Wing ! 



DEPARTING. 

Then the priest shall let them dei)art with this blessing: — 
" The peace of God, which passeth all understanding, keep your 
hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of his 
Son, Jesus Christ, our Lord ; and the blessing of God Almighty, 
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, be amongst you, and 
remain with you always.*' — Rubric of Episcopal Church. 

'Tis pleasant, in the courts of God, 

When vows and hymn and ritual cease, 
To note their awful threshold trod 

By feet that go at words of peace. 
" Depart with Messing ! " — How sincere 

And touching is that holy tone, 
Which dies in music on the ear 

Of earth, and lives to heaven alone ! 



283 

And when, with me, all thoughts refuse 

To pass again the quivering lip, — 
And spirit in those upper dews 

Its mounting wing prepares to dip, — 
Give me to hear that word below, — 

The last ere nature's flutterings cease- 
From tears and toil and empty show 

To truth and smiles, Depart in peace. 



WISDOM FROM ALL. 



My bed itself is like the grave, 

My sheets the winding sheet ; 
My clothes the mould which I must have 

To cover nia most meet. — The Good JSTight. 



'Tis well for giddy man to pause 
Along his pilgrim way ; 
And note what these that round him lie 
In council to him say. 

For he may find a precept couched 
In every homely thing, 
And household gear, and nature's gifts, 
May sure instruction bring. 



284 

I wot the roof that shelters him, 

The table for his meat, 

The summer's shade, the winter's hearth. 

May rich discourse repeat. 

I guess if he attentive ear 
Lend to the peeping flower, 
The germ may to his patience read 
Lessons of truth and power. 

I guess if to the full ripe corn 

He for direction look. 

The tasscled corn may show him good 

Not found in Dulness' book. 

r 

The small bird in its cunning nest, 
The honey bee in flight, 
May teach him ; yea, the groping mole 
May give his darkness light. 

The cradle where his cries were hushed. 
The rattle, bells, and ball, 
Mute playthings of his infant hours — 
Have to his age a call. 

The brook by which his boyhood played. 
The hill that seemed so high. 
Are homilies, when scans he them, 
With manhood's sobered eye. 



285 



And so, if pride no hindrance give, 
Food for all thought, profound. 
The wise in heart may always pluck 
From things that lie around. 



THE EARLY DEAD. 

Think of youth 
Smitten amidst its playthings. — /on. 

Think, mother ! of the babe that clung 
In weakness closely to thy love ; 

Round whom thy arms were warmly flung, 
While blessings for it rose above, 

With every panting of thy breast. 
With every kiss, a whispered prayer 

That on it happy dew might rest. 

That this sweet bud might aye be blest, 
And Heaven's shielding favor share — 
Where is that infant ? — Where ? 

Think, mother ! of thy prattling girl. 
Whose sunny eyes have gladdened thee. 

Whose bird-like voice, 'mid care's wild whirl. 
Hath charmed thee with its melody ; 

Whose airy step within thy hall 
Was signal still of pleasure there ; 



«286 

Bright creature ! who embodied all 

That we perfection fondly call, 

Or dream the pure blest spirits are :- — 
Where is that daughter ! — Where ? 

Think, mother ! of thy noble boy. 
Who stood before thee in the pride 

Of strength and beauty ; no alloy 
Thy fond maternal hopes to chide. 

As his clear eye and open brow 

Thou soughtest, and within his hair 

Of careless curls, thy fingers thou 
Delightedly wast wont to place, 
And mark the father in his face, 
And see thy image mimicked there — 
Where is that boy ? — Oh, ichere ? 

That infant is a seraph now I 

That daughter kneels before the throne ! 

That beauteous boy, with harp and crown, 
Exulting, spreads his silver wings. 
Thou almost hear'st those perfect strings 

Whose music is to thee unknown — 
Sound where the glad immortals bow. 

Where children cast their honors down ; 
Where elders and apostles meet 
At Jesus' feet. 

Think, mother ! while sweet tears are shed, 
How blessed are the Early Dead ! 



287 



WHAT IS MAN? 

Like to the falling of a star, 
Or as the flights of eagles are ; 
Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
Or bubbles which on water stood ; 
Even such is man. — Henry King. 

I COURT retirement's hour, 

That I may gladly look 
Away from fantasies of earth, 

And study nature's book. 

I court relief from care j 

I covet better things 
Than this same creeping, carking care ; 

My spirit asketh wings ! 

It spurneth prison walls. 
And soars, in spite of chain, 

Where mind with mind expatiates, 
And is at home again. 

I weary of the strife 

Men wage by night and day, 
An honorable straAV to win, — - 

A heap of yellow clay. 



19 



288 

They, like the silly fly, 

Suck from each wooing flower ; 
And revel on delighted wing, 

And perish in an hour. 



WALKING ON THE SEA. 

And about the fourth watch of the night he cometh unto them, 
walking upon the sea. — Mark vi. 48. 

Tiberias battles with the storm ; 
And hark ! its waters cry 
To sweeping winds, that answer give 
From out the troubled sky. 

And lo ! upon its raving tide, 
How awfully serene 
One walks, who, in the furnace, once, 
Unscathed, " the Fourth" was seen. 

He walks the waves ! the rebel waves 
In deep submission lie ; 
The wild winds hear his tread, and cease, 
When Jesus passes by. 



2S9 

And in this spirit lurks a storm ; 
Here chafes the angry sea; 
And wild winds here lift up their voice, 
And rage continually. 

Pass o'er this soul, Redeemer ! then 
Shall sink its billows tall ; 
Oh, move amid these winds, and they 
Shall at thy presence fall. 



SACRED MELODY. 

The following piece, (the only one contained in my former 
volumes which is included in this book,) is here inserted on ac- 
count of its wayward destiny. I wrote it in Philadelphia, June, 
1818, for the Franklin Gazette, in which it was published with 
the signature JV. ; and the remarks it elicited in England, where 
it appeared in newspapers, magazines, and sundry volumes of 
sacred poetry, probaMy gave an impulse to my early timid en- 
deavors. It has since appeared in collections of English and 
American verse, with various signatures and names affixed ; 
and it may not, perhaps, be Unworthy of a " local habitation," 
and at length rightful " nam3," in this final volume. 

There is an hour of peaceful rest, 

To mournino; wanderers given ; 
There is a joy for souls distressed, 
A balm for every wounded breast — ' 
'Tis found above, in heaven. 



290 

There is a soft, a downy bed, 

Far from these shades of even ; 
A couch for weary mortals spread, 
Where they may rest the aching head, 
And find repose in heaven. 

There is a home for weary souls. 

By sin and sorrow driven ; 
When tossed on life's tempestuous shoals, 
Where storms arise and ocean rolls, 

And all is drear — 'tis heaven. 

There Faith lifts up her cheerful eye, 

To brighter prospects given, — 
And views the tempest passing by, 
The evening shadows quickly fly, 
And all serene in heaven. 

There fragrant flowers, immortal, bloom, 

And joys supreme are given : 
There rays divine disperse the gloom — 
Beyond the confines of the tomb 

Appears the dawn of heaven. 



291 



RETURN OF THE JEWS. 



Will he never return ? Will the Jew 

In exile, eternally pine ? 
By the multitude scorned, pitied only by few, 
Will he never his vows to Jehovah renew 

Beneath his own olive and vine ? 

Will the wrath of the Lord to him burn 

For aye, who the Nazarene vexed ? 
Will not the Lord's slayer in penitence learn, 
And the nailer, and spearman, and mocker return, 

For his crime deeply stirred and perplexed ? 

Will he dwell with the Gentiles, who slight 

His shrine, and make traffic their god ? 
Slink in alleys and avenues where the dark rite 
Of London is offered to Mammon, of right, 
Whose fathers Jerusalem trod ? 

Will he yield up his treasures of wealth 
On the rack, at the gibbet and stake ? 

Shall his wife, daughters, sons, shall his ease and 
his health, 

Ay, and life, be cut off, or enjoyed but in stealth ? 
Shall he not from such tyranny break ? 



292 



Will he crouch 'neath Mohammed's control, 

In suburbs, pent up like a thief? 
And drink of contempt, and reproachings, the bowl, 
Who of chivalry once, and of honor was soul, 

Whose nation of nations was chief? 

Shall his oil and his wine ne'er be reapt ? 

Shall his harp hang by Euphrates' tide ? 
Whose music of sweetness for ages hath slept, 
O'er whose strings hath no finger of cheerfulness 
swept, 

In songs of deliverance and pride ? 

Shall he ne'er at the festival's sheen. 

The new moon, or Sabbath attend ? 
Where Zion in beauty and glory was seen. 
Where shoutings went up, trumpets calling between. 

While praises were wont to ascend ? 

Where the censer gave odorous perfume, 

Where the Holy of Holies had place. 
Where the almond of Aaron was laid up in bloom, 
Where the Ark of the Covenant had resting and room. 

Where Shechinah gave token of grace ? 

Zion ! name that brings freshly the sigh ; 

Zion ! name at which tears freely fall ; 
Where the mosque of the prophet peers proudly and 

high. 
Where the Muzzein at noon gives idolatrous cry. 

Where Allah is worshipped of all ! 



293 



'Tis the Zion, oh, God ! which thy arm 

Still embraces, for her hast thou set 
Most safe in thy love, deeply graved on thy palm, 
Secure from defilement, and terror, and harm, 

Her bulwarks before thee are yet. 

And thy oath ! — 'twas to Abraham given ! 

Thy servant, devoted to thee — 
As the sands on the shore, as the leaves by winds 

driven. 
As the hosts that then studded the Syrian heaven, 

So his children uncounted should be ! 

Like kings on their conquering car, 

They return ! for their bondage is burst ; — 

" My sons shall be gathered, my daughters from far ; 

To bear them where shines Jacob's beautiful Star, 
Lo, Tarshish with ships shall be first ! " 



I see them ! I see them ! behold ! 

Every stream, sea and ocean is white, 
Where their canvass points home, where their stan- 
dard's broad fold 
Waves on to the East, as it waved once of old, 

When the Ark moved, enveloped in light ! 

I see them ! how wondrous the crowd ! 

From Ganges, from Humber, from Nile, — 
As doves to their windows, they fly as a cloud ; 
How roll their hosannas ! how lordly and loud 

Horn and timbrel give answer the while ! 



294 



Be lifted, ye gates ! for 'tis He 

Once led by the rabble to die, 
Once spit on, and thorn-crowned, and hung on a tree, 
Now worshipped, anointed, exalted to be 

A Prince and a Saviour on high. 

Who is He that of glory is king ? 

To whom shall be lifted the gates ? 
Shout, thousands of Israel ! ye worshippers, bring 
Oblations ! Let earth with her jubilee ring ! 

The crown for the Nazarene waits ! 

Then, Christian, reproaches and stain 

No longer give thou to the Jew ; 
For gathered in gladness to Zion again. 
He will own that Messiah, appointed to reign, 

Has come, the Great Witness and True. 



MISSIONS. 



MISSIONS. 



Spirit of Missions ! Spark of genuine flame ! 
In God or man developed, still the same. 
The same, where'er Messiah's followers go, — 
Lights of the world, — to scatter light below. 
The same, where rise the gorgeous temple's walls, 
And where on Heaven the forest suppliant calls. 
The same that bids the herald tempt the wave 
For burning India, her lost sons to save : 
Or prompts unnamed philanthropy to trace 
Through lanes and alleys, misery's dwelling place. 
The same, where'er benevolence is known, — 
Lingering in hovels, seated on the throne ; 
Thee, Spirit ! we discern, and hail thee now. 
Essence divine, — Religion's daughter, Thou ! 

Ere in the void the firmament was hung, 
Creation's birth ere stars and seraphs sung, 
Thou hadst thy being. Thousand, thousand times 
Ten thousand harps had woke immortal chimes 
To thy sweet praises, and the song above 
To thee was rendered, known in heaven as Love. 



298 



Say, who of mortals introduced thee here, 
And brought celestial blessedness so near ? 
Say, who of man the sandal girded first, 
To seek a welcome, or shake off its dust ? 
Peace at the door to leave, or doom, more dread 
Than that which fell on guilty Sodom's head ? 
Nay, no mere mortal first that passage trod. 
The Prince of missions was the Son of God ! 
Behold him, in the opening blush of youth. 
In his own temple ! See the Life, the Truth, 
Pointing to venerable men the way 
That scribes may miss, — from which the sage may 

stray. 
While scanning there the Missionary Boy, 
The skill of ancients finds perplexed employ ; 
They listen, wondering, — and subdued is pride, 
By Wisdom, Beauty, Grace, personified. 
Behold him in his Father's work engaged ! 
Work to be done, though unchained demons raged. 
The lame he heals, the blind to sight restores, 
And resurrection on death's chamber pours; — 
Type of the power the God possessed within, 
To cure the soul, and raise the dead in sin. 

Last words are precious. Who that bendeth o'er 
The form so loved, so soon beheld no more, — 
And marks the eye, which, at the spirit's flight. 
Kindles unwonted, quenched too soon in night, — 
Doth catch not, ere they're hushed in silent death, 
The lightest whisper of the parting breath, 



299 



And waits and watches not, in painful fear 
Lest but one word — the last — may fail his ear ? 
Oh, how intensely Love doth gather these ! 
And when the struggling soul has gained release, 
No miser treasures gold as Love will hoard, 
And to the tittle, will fulfil each word. 
Man unto man is faitliful : — is he thus 
To God ? Past centuries ! ye shall answer us. 

Twilight was gathering o'er the Syrian hills, 
And day's last gleam lay on Judea's rills j 
The soothing silence light's departure brings, 
Came, gratefully, on sober evening's wings ; 
And far round Bethany the influence spread. 
Which o'er retirement's hour is softly shed ; 
When Jesus, with his faithful followers, came 
On final errand. Him they knew, the same 
Late lost in death, but now in triumph found. 
Revisiting the loved, familiar ground, — 
Martha and Mary's town, where Lazarus rose ; — 
There doth the Saviour all his love disclose, 
And give his last command, — fulfilled, when sea, 
And earth, as heaven, to Him shall subject be : 
" Go, ye, and teach all nations ; in the name 
Of Love eternal, saving love proclaim." 
Finished his work, — the great commission given, 
A cloud his car, the God ascends to heaven. 
Thus are we answered : — Eighteen hundred years 
Of crime, and blood, and ignorance, and tears. 



300 



On hoary Olivet have dial kept, 

And o'er her Lord's last words, the Church has slept. 

Yet, gracious Saviour, fell thy words on hearts 
Slow to believe, and faint to act their parts ? 
Deemed the apostles that Jerusalem, 
Their field, appropriate, would suffice for them ? 
And feared they hardship, and that hands which slew 
The Master, would destroy the servant too ? 
Or, passed they not from land to land, in turn, 
Like flames of fire, to purify and burn ! 
Thy love, alone, constraining them, to spread 
The light of life through regions of the dead ? 
They did, — and Earth, from east to western sea, 
From north to south, was rendered back to thee. 
Where slept that spirit, — mighty, godlike, then, 
In following ages ? Saviour ! why slept men ? 

The night, that lowered upon the nations, broke ; 
The slumbering Church to duty slowly woke ; 
And here and there, some stars, that tokened day, 
Were seen to tremble out in gladdening ray : — 
Xavier and Swartz, — to Europe dimly known, — 
With glorious lustre on the Orient shone. 
And some looked out along this western sky, — 
Lights of God's kindling, which may never die. 

Beauty and romance, in rich tints, are flung^ 
Round David Brainerd, at his Crossweeksung. 



301 

'Tis his, the Indian proselytes to lave 
(The Spirit's work) in the baptismal wave ; 
In presence of the sky, and their wild woods. 
With solemn music of their native floods. 
Himself, a young disciple, round whom stand, — 
Curious, yet grave, — the sovereigns of the land ; 
Bending dark brows ; — 'neath which gleam awe and 

love 
For him, — perchance some prophet from above ! 
Beautiful picture ! — and sublime, as fair; 
What zeal, and hope, and self-denial there ! 

And some have heard, within these sacred halls,' 
The secret voice that on the conscience calls ; 
And pondered o'er in yonder hallowed grove,^ 
The lofty plan to spread Redeeming Love, 
The vows assumed beneath that conscious shade. 
By Heaven were witnessed; — Heaven has seen them 

paid. 
There prayed they, humbly, to the Source Divine ; 
There found they wisdom on their path to shine. 
Nor faltered they, that path of peril known. 
Nor thought indulged to keep from God his own. 
Rejoiced to quell ambition's youthful pride, — 
Rejoiced to climb the noble vessel's side, — 
A highway opened for them, vast and wide, 
A world of wo before them, — oh, how long 
By us neglected ! — Heaven, forgive the wrong. 

Commerce had sent her barques to every sea ; 
The spangled banner of the daring Free 



302 



Had tossed its haughty folds on every wind, 
Long, long before — in mercy to mankind — 
The mission-keel for Jesus ploughed the wave, 
With register of things that reach beyond the grave. 

'Tis brave to see a gallant ship, 

With snowy pinions, fly 
Across the ocean, like a bird, 

Beneath a pleasant sky. 
'Tis brave to think what precious things 

Are heaped up in her hold, — 
What goodly merchandize she brings. 

And jewelry and gold. 

How lofty is her carriage, when 

She sitteth on the deep ; 
Her streamers loose, her canvass spread, 

The rolling seas to sweep ! 
The loud hurrah, — the sailor's cheer, — 

The tumult and the strife, — 
The laugh, the farewell, and the tear ; 

She is a thing of life ! 

Yet braver sight I deem it is, 

Aiul goodlier, wlien a ship. 
With Mercy's heralds, doth her wing 

In yonder waters dip ; — 
A burden bearing, richer far 

Than gold, or cunning gem, — 
Yea, wafting tidings of the star 

That shines from Bethlehem ! 



303 

More blessed than the royal ships 

Of Solomon, that seas 
Once traversed, for the peacocks, gums, 

And spice and almug trees. 
With other errand than the barque 

Which hoists the slaver's sail, — 
On whose deck pours the curse of One 

Who hears the Negro's wail. 

Thrice blessed ! for she doth fulfil 

His high intent, who gave 
A passage through all latitudes, 

A path on every wave, — 
And gave the needle law to turn, 

Obedient, to the pole, 
That His own word may journey on, 

And visit every soul. 

Oh, 'tis a holy thought, that men 

May watch, and toil, and strive, 
And stir with enterprise the land, 

And make the seas alive ; 
And open up new avenues 

Which traffic never trod, 
Only, that earth by these may be 

A highway for our God I 

On ! on ! — degraded Africa 

In this good ship has part ; 
A pulse of joy shall quickly beat 

Throughout her mighty heart ; — 
20 



304 

And, from her farthest pyramid, 

Down to her southern line, 
When Freedom reigns, what exile will 

Look homeward, to repine ? 

On ! on ! — the ^gean (glorious sea !) 

Before us gaily smiles ; 
And those rich emeralds on its breast. 

The lovely Grecian Isles ; 
And when upon each isle the Cross 

Is reared to happy men. 
We will not dwell on farewell tears, 

In memory's sadness then. 

Where Housatonic quietly is seen 
Winding its silver path through vales of green, - 
Such as New England only boasts, — one dwelt, 
Who followed busily tlie world, yet knelt 
Daily and truly at a better shrine, — 
For this life wise, and wise for life divine. 
One hapless morn, his duties seemed to ask 
That on the river he should ply his task. 
A storm had sv/ept the waters. Chafing still, 
The billows vexed the shore, and he from ill 
Must save his craft, which at their mercy lay ; 
So, cheerfully to labor, went his way. 

He sought the angry stream, and from its bed 
That evening's shadows saw him taken, dead. 
The widow (name of anguish ! silence best 
May tell her sorrows,) sank at first, oppressed. 



305 

A Christian widow, yet was she, whose trust 

Was firm in God, who laid her hopes in dust. 

Rites all performed to the departed due, 

She to her chamber with her babes withdrew, 

And kneeling by them, in prevailing prayer 

Poured out a mother's ardent wishes there. 

To Him, who makes the fatherless his care, 

She gave them up ; — then, on the curling head 

Of her first-born, she laid her hand, and said : 

" Samuel ! — my son ! — my eldest ! — you have now 

No father here to love j^ou ; — if you bow 

To Christ, your Saviour, though severe this rod. 

He'll be your Father, and your gracious God." 

Smiling in tears, she rose, and found relief, 

Thenceforth in faith, for this her bitter grief. 

That eager boy, led by maternal love, 

Trod the safe ways that surely tend above. 

And now, though dead, Heaven all the faith fulfils 

Of her, the ancestor of sainted Mills. 

Oh, mother, take thy little son — 

A path to him unknown, — 
And lead him to the holy Cross ; 

He cannot go alone ; — 
And teach, betimes, those rosy lips, 

Ere stain may gather there, 
To lisp of God ; those infant knees 

Oh, teach to bow in praj^er, 



306 

He looks to thee in confidence, — 

He knows no other love ; 
Wilt thou not guide that trusting one 

To better hope above ? 
He asks in sweet simplicity 

To have his wants supplied, — 
Wilt thou not teach him how to crave 

Of One, who will not chide ? 

Thy heart is all alarm, if pain 

Afflict his languid limb, — 
It soothes thee, if thou mayst but ease 

One pang that troubles him ; — 
And wilt thou, then, unmindful be, 

Lest pains without control 
Should end in death, — the second death 

Of the undying soul ? 

Oh, look on his uncertain step 

Along the nursery floor, — 
And think, how swift those feet may be 

To seek destruction's door ! 
Ay, mother ! others, on whose birth 

As bright a sun has shone, 
Have in their follies sunk away, 

And set in shame alone. 

Oh, think ! thy speech, thy action, look, 

Have influence to-day, — 
And still shall wield their influence 

When worlds have fled away. 



807 

Oh, think, that an unbidden glance 

Has power on such an one, 
To shape a fiend's or seraph's path, 

When myriad years have run : 

That this dear prattler on thy knee. 

Whose face is sunshine now. 
May swell the ranks who wear the curse 

Of hell upon their brow ; 
Or, with a harp, like that on which 

A Paul and Payson play. 
May soar and sing, where perfect love 

Makes one unclouded day.^ 

There is a power at the secluded hearth 

Of yon New England household, that may be 
Felt by the dwellers at the ends of earth, — 

Known to the islands of the distant sea. 
Come ! let us woo the waters, and repair 

To Asia's pleasant gardens, where the palm 
And fig-tree flourish ; and the gentle air. 

Laden with citron, yields perpetual balm. 
In this sweet Isle-of-France is seen the grave, — 

Crowned with the evergreen, — where Harriets 
sleeps. 
What tender thoughts speed o'er the Indian wave, 

Where pilgrim Love for her fond vigil keeps ! 
What thousands, roused from sleep, have caught 
Love's flame ! 

What thousands more its influence shall confess. 
Woke by the thrilling music of her name, — 

And venture all — the heathen world to bless ! 



308 



Unhappy India ! — empire of the sun ! — 
Rich in the gifts of nature, yet undone. 
Toil has been given, with many prayers for thee, 
That thou from error's bondage mayst be free. 
Yet time rolls on ; — in billows deep and long, 
The tide rolls on, — two hundred millions strong, — 
Emptying those waves of life into the sea 
Of shoreless, fathomless eternity. 

To urge thee downward in thy course of wo, 
Hear it, high Heaven ! and wonder, Earth below ! 
The Christian lends his influence, and for gain 
Adds one more link — the strongest — to thy chain. 
Thy native youth, by Europe's science taught, 
Obtain, blest boon, the privilege of thought ; 
And seeking truth — which only maketh wise — 
Detect old frauds and superstitious lies ; 
And caste, and priest, and rite, at once despise. 
Yet led not by philosophy to drink 
At higher streams, they loiter on the brink 
Of these low waters, thirsty. Who will show 
The young inquirers where those fountains flow, 
Of which, who drink, though searching long in vain. 
Shall thenceforth live, and never thirst again 1 
Yonder it comes ! — instruction from the West ! 
Gleaned from the dregs of poison that infest 
Decaying France ; the precepts of Voltaire, 
And Paine's vile gatherings of the pit are there; 
Sent out by men who tread this hallowed strand, — ■ 
This free and favored, boasting Christian land, — 
Who, rather than their dreadful gains forego, 
Would doom their race to everlasting wo. 



309 



Better, far better, that the Hindoo lay, 

A blinded votary, still, to senseless clay. 

Or sculptured stone : — for him it had been well ; 

He had not found, at last, so deep a hell. 

So have I heard, on some rude, barbarous coast, 
Where ships are wrecked and mariners are lost. 
If one, perchance, is rescued from the wave, 
'Tis but to find on land, a surer grave : — 
The robber meets him, nor regards his prayer, 
But murders whom the seas and tempests spare. 

Joy to the world ! — the isles that ages saw 
Vassals of sin, now wait Messiah's law. 
Forth to their toil the missionaries go. 
Gladly to lessen human guilt and wo. 
God goes before them, freely to prepare 
The way in pagan lands. Salvation's highway there. 
And while breaks on them, cloudlike, Oahu, 

They hear the far-off cry, — " the tabu's o'er ! 
The altar and the God demolished too. 

What Deity shall come to Obookiah's shore .^ " 

He comes ! He comes ! whose mission 'tis to save, 

And raise the vilest from pollution's grave. 

And at the music of His voice, the brand 

Of death drops powerless from the assassin's hand. 

She, that, inhuman, would to burial give 

Her living babe, consents the babe shall live. 



310 



The feeble parent, sick, or worn with age, 
Is left no more to glut some monster's rage. 
The tear is shed, and heaves the contrite's sigh, 
Instead of strife, and Pe-le's frantic cry. 
And stealing o'er the plain and lovely dell. 
How strangely sweet ! — is heard the Sabbath bell. 
The word proclaimed, the Spirit comes in power ; — 
*Tis love's reward, — 'tis heaven's rejoicing hour. 

And what shall mar this picture ? — Blasts from hell 
May not destroy what God secures so well. 
And who of men, if devils fail, can dim 
These ocean-jewels, fashioned thus, for Him .'' 
What savage lands? — nay, savage they were not 
That furnished cargoes of the bane, to blot 
These pleasant gardens from the southern deep, 
And leave the Christian, patriot, man, to weep 
For desolation, wrought along this shore, 
Known to the elder, sister group before. 
From polished climes the dreadful besom came 
To sweep these islands ; and the guilt and shame 
Lie at the doors of holy men, whose sum 
Of cash and sin is swelled by cursed New-England 
rum.^ 

Cross the Pacific to our western coast, 
And vice of darker hue shall meet thee. Boast 
No more of Christian courtesy ; — behold ! 
How fiendlike, man, — in villany, how bold I 



311 



The poor Nez Perces, from their Oregon 
Yearly allured to guilty towns, are won 
To foul intemperance and lust; — then, fraught 
With seeds of sin, are to their kindred brought ; 
Returned, to poison with pestiferous breath 
The simple hordes, and scatter moral deathJ 

Give us the holy Book, said they, 

Whose writing tells of hope and heaven : 

Our lot is sad, and dark our way ; 

May not the blessed star of day, 

To cheer the Indian's path, be given ? 

Ye've urged us to the farthest West, 

From hunting-ground, and teeming river : 
Your corn grows on our mother's breast, — 
We're trodden down, abused, oppressed, 
And Manitoo will not deliver. 

We'll look to lands that may be ours. 

Of running streams, and forests vernal ; 
Where brave men, in those happy bowers, 
Pass, joyfully, the white-winged hours 
That brightly link the years eternal. 

We want the Book that shows the way, — 
The guide to poor, lost wanderers given ; — 

'Twill make us glad, while here we stay ; 

The white man's blessed star of day 
Shall lead the Indian to his heaven. 



312 

The white man, with begxiiling talk, 

Allured the Indian to his city. 
Where crime is seen in shameless walk, 
And mad intemperance doth stalk, 

And glares the eye that knows not pity ; 

Then thrust him thence, a ruined one, 
An outcast, loathsome, and heart-broken ; 

He begs once more, — the wretch, undone, — 

The holy Book that warns to shun 

Such wo, of heavenly love the token j 

His cards the white man proffered then, — 
Hell's printed leaves ; at such endeavor 
Of wickedness, beyond his ken, 
The devil blushed, yet triumphed, when 
He saw the victim lost for ever. 

Spirit of Missions, wake ! — thou art awake 
If we may Popery trust. See, where they break 
Away, in locust swarms, from fruitful Rome, 
To rear the papal throne in Freedom's home ; 
And teach our sons to own a foreign power ; 
Our daughters take, with modesty's rich dower, 
And wed them to the Lord. Yea, bind the free 
With magic influence of Saint Peter's key ! 
Yet, would you learn their fitness, and how wise 
Are such to win the young, a sketch may well suffice. 
If e'er to classic Italy you go. 
Look at the schools which good Borromeo, 



313 



Milan's archbishop, founded. Popery keeps 
Its vigils there, while better precept sleeps. 
Sunday is chosen ; yet not Sunday schools 
Deem these, though subject to religion's rules. 
Behold them in the vast cathedral, where, 
Sexes apart, they sit with solemn air, 
And listen, as the skilful priest explains 
The sinner's loss, — the devotee's sure gains. 
No Bible in the pupil's hand is seen, — 
No library book adorns his desk of green. 
And yet some guerdon waits the heavy task 
Of due attendance. From kind Heaven ask 
These priests indulgences for sin, to pay 
The hireling scholars on each Sabbath day. 
And, without sigh, or penitential grief. 
Scores are wiped out by the old pontiff's brief; 
Then homeward troop they, — mingling smiles and 

tears, -^ 
Absolved, some five, and some five hundred years.^ 

Dear native land ! 'tis said, in Heaven's decree, 
That glorious things are spoken yet of thee. 
That to fulfil some high intent, God gave 
Thy early fathers passage o'er the wave ; 
And led those pilgrims on their stormy way, 
His ark to shelter in yon wintry bay. 
Where they, obscure, despised, in very need. 
Planted in these rude hills most precious seed. 
And watched its growth, and watered well its root, 
And saw it redolent of leaves and fruit, — 



314 



Till, their faith realized, the giant tree 

Has stretched its hundred arms from sea to sea. 

Has Heaven done this, — and shouldst not thou 
engage 
In strife for Heaven, and its last battle wage ? 
Shouldst thou not speed salvation's message, thus, 
As widely, freely, as the common curse ? 
In every spot where wasting sin has rule. 
Plant God's own nursery, the Sunday school ? 
Give to his Bible wings, and bid it g-o 
Where guilt is found, and guilt's companion, wo ? 
Nor stay thy labor till the Eternal Son 
Smiles on a world to his dominion won ? 

Is Wealth required ? Of earth's superfluous gold,. 
A mite would win her back to Jesus' fold. 
Its fountains are not sealed ; — yon playhouse shows 
When folly calls for wealth, it freely flows. 
Is talent, time, or zeal required ? — all these 
That playhouse has, at full command, to please. 
See there, for sin, how willingly engage, 
With all the heart, the votaries of the stage ! 
Who strut and trifle, mock and laugh away. 
In mimic joy and sorrow, life's poor day. 
Thousands they've lulled with pleasure's syren 

song. 
Ten thousand witched to death by sorcery strong. 
What bitter tears have wretched fathers shed 
O'er manly sons, — of promise, early fled, — 



S15 

What stricken mothers, silently, have laid 
A broken heart to rest, where tomb-flowers fade, 
For lovely daughters, sunk away in shame, 
Allured, betrayed ; for ever lost their name, 
Amid enticements of the playhouse, where 
The soil is sin, — pollution's breath the air ; 
What hopes, what bliss, what prospects of earth's 

good. 
What gold, what pearls, what bodies, souls, this flood 
Of vast iniquity has gorged, none may 
Or count, or guess ; the last revealing day 
Will to the world, in the world's pyre-light, show 
What wealth was whelmed in this abyss of wo.^ 

Is Chivalry required, which youth inspires ? 
'Tis here, indeed, though lawless are its fires. 
In honor, nice, it calls aloud for blood, 
And will obtain it, — spite of man or God. 
From yonder capital ye heard its cry, 
When for their idol, fools agreed to die. 
When was forgotten each appealing claim 
Of right or country, — wife and child, — a name 
Was periled, and in contest for a shade. 
Forth went the duellist on high crusade.'" 

Yes, ye are honorable, all, 

In Congress, there's no doubt; 

Your chivalry we may not call 
In question, who are out. 



316 

Oh, no ! and yet there's fresh, warm blood 

Upon your hands to-day ; 
And earth has drunk the purple flood 

Its streams can't wash away. 
Blood, too, which in their coward haste, 

Men, who from conscience shrink, 
Have dared, like Druids, damned, to taste, 

And given their god to drink. 
Shame ! where's thy blush .'' we saw it, when 

We searched some felon's cell ; 
But with such honorable men, 

Shame may not, cannot dwell ! 

I saw the deck of the tall vessel, when * 

'Twas place of interest to God and men. 
Her sails, all loosened to the ready breeze, 
Her pennons, pointing to the distant seas. 
Told us, the graceful traveller, under weigh 
For foreign climes, must shortly cleave the bay. 
And who are these that gather round her .'' some 
Are whispering solace — others, grief makes dumb. 
That old man, on the verge of heaven, takes 
Farewell of him, who sire and home forsakes. 
The bride is there — a tender, gentle girl. 
Lost for the moment in the varying whirl 
Of sorrow, joy, and l)lessed hope, as sever 
Those who on earth again shall mingle never. 
She hangs upon her mother ; — who may tell. 
Oh, holy nature, what strong feelings swell 



317 



Within that mother's bosom ! And they go, 
Where mercy guides, to nations sunk in ■wo. 
Yet think not 'tis in sorrow, — that hour's bliss 
Comes from another world ; 'twas never known to 
this. 

That youth will labor, suffer there, in strife 
With idol powers. That female will her life 
Yield up, — if need be, — where the banyans bloom. 
Where no kind kindred hand may deck her tomb. 
Where savage beasts, or men, more savage, roam, — 
Far from her much loved Massachusetts home ; 
And the sweet sympathies which bless her lot, 
Who languishes and dies in the dear spot 
That saw her birth. The cloud of canvass spread, 
The ship departs ; the mission-path they tread. 
Yet one last word, last wish expressed, (it swells 
Along the whisper of their sad farewells,) 
Asks, when of prayer we taste the soothing power, 
We'll ne'er forget them, — never, in that hour. 

Welcome, the hour of interceding prayer ! 
Welcome, the place of precious concert ! where, 
With one accord, the Christian suppliants meet, 
And lay the heathen world at Jesus' feet. 
The flame, lit up on the far Sandwich shore, 
Catches from land to land, and passes o'er 
Ocean and continent, till, like a robe 
Of glory, prayer encompasses the globe. 



318 



Yet deem not prayer, or gold will ever win 
Earth from the grasp of unrelenting sin. 
Not these alone ; — there must be quenchless zeal, 
And love untiring, — which like love can feel, 
And toil, as Love did ; gladly, wholly, so 
That heaven, all love, may dwell with men below. 

Think not the work is done, or well nigh done ; 

To " pray and pay " some few days, and the Son 

Will surely enter on his kingdom — No ! 

The mighty toil is but commenced ; and think. 

How little is accomplished ! — On the brink 

Of ruin, yet how many millions stand ! 

How few, alas, of that immortal band 

Will reach immortal life ! — who of us, then. 

Delays exertion for these fellow men ? 

Oh, while we linger, lingers not death's power ; 

And hell has won its thousands in this hour ! 

Thou precious Gospel ! power is seen in thee. 
From every yoke, to set all captives free. 
Where thy pure influence is truly felt. 
Spurned are all idol gods to which man blindly knelt. 
Hark ! to a voice o'er glad Caribbean waves, ^^ 
Telling that men walk forth, no longer slaves. 
The fetters broke, — for ever unconfined. 
Henceforth expatiates the immortal mind, — 
Doing, what mind, free as its Giver, can, 
To prove the affinity of God to man. 



S19 



'Tis much, that now the tiller of the soil 

Shall henceforth reap the harvest of his toil ; 

'Tis much — no longer in the world alone, 

He feels home's treasures are indeed his own. 

No tyrant's hand shall on his wife be laid. 

No ruffian dealer in his children trade; — 

Nor to the cord and whip shall subject be 

The body, — yea, 'tis more, — the soul is free ! 

The soul, once bought with priceless blood, and sold 

By man, unblushingly, for sordid gold. 

What earthquake cry has on that prison broke. 

And from the guiltless captive loosed the yoke ? 

The same strong voice that rocked Philippi's cell, 

Has wrought Emancipation work, so well ! 

The Gospel's influence stooped to melt the chain, 

And bring up man to sit with men again. 

Oh, speed it, then ! till on ou7- millions fall 

Its warmth and light, which play upon the wall 

Of their sad dungeon, and, barred out by sin, 

As yet, with blest deliverance, shine not in. 

Spirit of Missions ! art thou not still found 
Within this presence, awfully around ! 
Spirit of Missions ! hast thou not a throne 
In some hearts here, accepted as thine own, 
That burn to herald the Redeemer's name. 
In far off lands ; content with pain and shame, 
Sickness and sorrow — death itself — if they 
Might win some souls where wretched millions 
stray ; 

21 



320 



And lay their bones in some unnoticed grave, 
Where Burmah's gardens bloom, or Jordan's palm- 
trees wave ? 

What recollections crowd upon ye still, — 
Ye who inquire, and learn your Master's will,^* 
As, often gathering in these sacred halls, 
Ye counsel, pray, and ponder o'er the calls 
From the far heathen ! Oh, how kindly, then 
Comes on the heart remembrance of the men 
Who sat where thus ye sit, in like employ, — 
Redemption their high theme — its work their joy ! 
Where are they ? Memory repeats it, " where ! " 
The sea has some, and some sepulture share 
With the poor Hindoo : — will ye follow, too ? 
The foe is strong — our warriors are but few. 

Jericho, when the trump of jubilee 
Rang round her walls the anthem of the free, 
Trembled to her vast centre. Reeling, fell 
Rampart and tower, as by some mighty spell. 
God did it. Vain that Levite trumpeter. 
With holy ark, should seven days compass her. 
Not these ! not these ! His own Almighty blast 
Her pomp and glory did to ruin cast ; 
Yea, swept from earth her very name, that none 
Of her rebellious seed might glean a stone. 
Thus will it ever be. The only song — 
Bewildering devils v/ith its heavenly call — 
At whose high summons gates shall open wide, 



321 



Walls crumble, and from Satan's captive throng 
The dreadful fetters shall for ever fall, 
Is that of Freedom : — Go, ye heralds, go ! 
And strong in Israel's God, — in God, who died 
To free a world, — salvation's trumpet blow. 

" Come ! " cry the nations, deeply sunk in wo ; 
Go ! — for a secret voice hath bid you " Go." 
Yes, and another voice speaks from the tomb, 
Just closed o'er talent, worth, and youthful bloom. 
He speaks, who yesterday assumed the shield, ^^ 
Here, in your ranks, prepared to take the field, 
And of his weapon made one proof below. 
He from his coffin speaks, and bids you " Go ! " 
Yes, from his glory says, "Brief life — well trod 
Its path of DUTY — surest leads to God ! " 

Pass on, ye hours ! Oh, haste to joyful birth, 
Thou day ! so long foretold, when ruined earth — 
The only planet on which rays divine. 
Of love, complacent, do not fully shine, — 
The only star of all the glittering train 
That onward rolls, and seems to roll in vain, — 
Shall be restored to His exalted sway, 
Whom atoms serve, and worlds immense obey. 

It comes ! it comes ! — already I behold 
Millennial splendors to all lands unrolled. 
Issuing in glory from her night of woes. 
What wondrous scenes doth earth to heaven disclose ! 



822 



Sin, the destroyer, and its fruits, unknown, — 
Religion treads an Eden now her own. 
What millions gather at the hallowed time, 
When labor pauses at the Sabbath's chime ! 
What little ones are grouped, in jfiocks, untold, 
Within the Sabbath School's delightful fold ! 
And every lamb, led by the Shepherd, seen 
By sparkling founts, in fields of living green. 
No hasting heralds search the heathen world ; 
On every hill, behold ! the Cross unfurled. 
Peace o'er the nations in rich beauty shed, 
One family of love, — one Church, — one Head ; 
And earth returned from bondage, guilt and tears, 
A weary wanderer of six thousand years ! 



NOTES 



1. Sparks's American Biography. 

2. Andover Theological Seminary, where this poem was de- 
livered. 

3. In connection with Messrs. Newell, Judson, Nott, and Hall, 
he held frequent consultations on this momentous subject, which 
resulted in a resolution to combine their exertions for effecting a 
mission to foreign lands. There is a beautiful grove that spreads 
itself in the rear of the buildings of the Andover Theological 
Seminary ; and " along that shady walk," says one of his fellow 
missionaries, " where I have often walked alone, Mr. Mills has 
frequently been my companion, and there urged the importance 
of missions to the heathen. And when we had reached some 
sequestered spot, where there was no fear of interruption, he 
would say, — ' Come, God can guide us right ; let us kneel down 
and pray ; ' and then he would pour out his soul in ardent sup- 
plication for the blessing of God, and the guidance of his Holy 
Spirit." — Life of Samuel J. Mills. 

4. St. Augustine, that sublime genius, that illustrious father 
and great luminary of the church, whose fame filled the whole 
Christian world in the latter part of the fourth, and beginninc of 
the fifth century, was, till his 28th year, only a " bitterness to her 
that bore him." From his own subsequent confession, he was 
deaf to the voice of conscience ; he broke away from all moral 
restraints, and spent his youth amid scenes of baseness and cor- 
ruption. But in all his wanderings, that depraved young man 
was followed by a weeping, praying mother. Her tears, on his 



324 



account, watered the earth, and her prayers went up as incense 
before God. " It is not possible,'^ said a certain bishop, in reply- 
to her importunity, that he would endeavor to reclaim her son, — 
"Good woman, it is not possible that a child of such tears 
should perish." And at length the son himself carried to his 
praying mother the news of his conversion, and she received 
" the oil of joy for mourning," and "the garment of praise for 
the spirit of heaviness." — Mother'' s Magazine. 

5. Harriet Newell. 

6. The introduction of New England rum \nto the Society and 
Sandwich Islands, (sent out, too, by professors of the Christian 
religion,) has accomplished much for tlie hiudrance of the Gos- 
pel among the abused natives. 

7. Astonishing Disclosure. — A friend has put into our hands, 
for publication, the following extract of a letter from Rev. Mr. 
Spaulding, missionary on Columbia river, dated Feb. Ifi, 1837. 
The trutlj of the disclosures cannot be doubted, although they 
are almost too wicked to be believed : — 

" Even at this great remove from the fountains of moral corrup- 
tion, a small rivulet, now and then, may be seen. Every year, a 
greater or less number of Nez Pcrces are taken to St. Louis, and 
return, (if their constitutions outride the storms of intemperance 
and licentiousness,) to scatter the seeds of moral death among 
their unsuspecting countrymen. Nor have I yet, I fear, caused 
to be burnt all the packs of cakds which have been sold for the 
Bible to the inoffensive people, long seeking for, and offering any 
price to get hold of that precious book. So the devil is found in 
sheep's clothing, even on the Rocky Mountains. They tell me 
they have sometimes given a horse for a pack of cards, which, 
they were told, was positively the Word of God ; but which they 
now call the book from below. They say they have, for some time, 
distrusted the men that would bring " fire water" to the moun- 
taius, drink it, and then kill each otlier." — Boston Courier. 



325 

8. Rev. Daniel Wilson's Tour through Europe. 

9. The infidel philosopher, Rousseau, declared himself to be 
of opinion that the theatre is, rn all cases, a school of vice.— 
Though he had himself written for the stage, yet, when it was 
proposed to establish a theatre in the city of Geneva, he wrote 
against the project with zeal and great force, and expressed the 
opinion that every friend of pure morals (and of youth) ought to 
oppose it. Alas, that which infidelity has condemned as a fruit- 
ful source of corruption and shame, is publicly advocated and 
patronized in our midst, — yea, more, — vindicated and patron- 
ized by some professing godliness ! 

10. " The wind was so high that they could not shoot with ac- 
curacy ; — else the same fate might have fallen to Mr. Graves. 
But, sir, 

Happy was he that diedj 

For many deaths will the survivor die. 

" There is not an honorable man living, who knows all the 
circumstances, that would not, at this moment, prefer the situa- 
tion of Mr. Cilley, stiff and cold as he is, to that of his antagonist, 
and of his antagonist's seconds, who perpetrated his murder." — 
Correspondent of the JVew York Gazette. 

11. The glorious First of August, 1838. 

12. Society of Inquiry on Missions. 

13. Mr. Homer Taylor, member of the senior class at the The- 
ological Seminary, at Andover. recently preached his first and 
last sermon, in the chapel of the Institution, and then entered 
into the joy of his Lord. 



